


Tangled in the Hanging Tree

by TiredPigeon (TwistedSkys)



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Everyone Needs A Hug, Five is tired, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy Gets A Hug, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy Whump, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Post Season 2, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedSkys/pseuds/TiredPigeon
Summary: The timeline is still messed up, obviously. There is still so much work to do, still so much to fix. His siblings have questions and concerns, and they want answers.Five just wants his nose to stop bleeding.(Post-season 2, but I have no plans to speculate on season 3, so consider this fluff.)Five is tired, his family is starting to notice.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Everyone
Comments: 302
Kudos: 1422
Collections: five whump





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hyper-fixations are exhausting.
> 
> [IDKHOW - Leave Me Alone]  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=85Z3iwpFQeg

Five decided for the rest of them that they were not ready to deal with the ‘Sparrow Academy’. He blinked them all outside as a group, landing them gracelessly in the alley behind the house. For a moment everyone lay on their backs on the concrete, the only sounds being their collective breathing and the sounds of cars on the distant street. At least they all landed together this time.

Klaus sat up first, taking in the sight of the others for a minute before speaking. “So, Sparrow Academy, huh?”

“Why’d you take us out of there?” Diego complained. “We need to figure out who those clowns are.”

“They’re this timelines’ version of us,” Five croaked from where he still lay. “Probably.” He was taking his sweet time to recover, barely bothering to move even as everyone else started sitting up and taking in the alley. “There’s nothing we can do about them right now, and I don’t want to screw things up even more by starting a fight.”

Luther huffed and sat up, staring straight at their smallest brother. “Screw things up more?” He asked, incredulous. 

His tone made Five look at him. “Yes, you idiot. Obviously things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be.”

“Obviously,” Diego spat.

“What about my daughter?” Allison asked, an edge of despair in her voice.

“We’ll fix this,” Five sat up to tell her immediately. There was real sympathy in his face when he assured her, and it would have been touching anytime else. 

“How are we gonna do that?” Luther asked impatiently.

They expected Five to give an answer but when he didn’t say anything, Diego took over. “Okay, first things first, we gotta figure out who’s alive and who isn’t. What if another doomsday is coming? I don’t want another Harold Jenkins happening.”

Vanya looked vaguely concerned by that.

“No, we need to talk to Dad.” Luther’s suggestion was met with a collective sigh. “He would know how exactly the timeline got messed up. Diego is right, you shouldn’t have taken us out of there.”

Diego snorted derisively. “I said nothing about talking to that jackass."

Klaus could feel an argument brewing between them, like monsoon clouds gathering on the horizon. Five had rested his head in his hands but looked up when Luther addressed him. “I just saved your ass from a better version of us,” Five snapped.

“Better version of us?” Diego shot back. “And how do you know that?”

“Because they’re not sitting on their asses in a city alley arguing with each other,” Five hissed at the two men. He had something else rude and smartassed to say but Luther’s bellow cut him off.

“And who’s fault is that?” Luther angrily climbed to his feet, towering over all of them, glaring down at Five. There was a collective eye roll from everyone that wasn’t Five and Luther. “No,” the biggest brother said, his voice never losing its volume. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. We would be at home, Mom and Pogo would be alive--”

Diego made a noise like he wanted to argue, but whatever he said was not important, and it got lost in the background.

“The apocalypse would have happened if it wasn’t for me. What part of ‘total annihilation of the human race’ are you having an issue with? They died, alongside everyone else.” Five had scrambled up to his feet, too, and was trying his best to meet Luther’s physical threat. It only served to make him look small. “I have been trying--”

“Everything went to shit when you showed up. You  _ brought  _ the apocalypse.”

“I saved you--”

“We didn’t need saving, we were just fine.”

Five jabbed a finger hard into Luther’s chest. “ _ Three times _ ! I watched you morons die  _ three. Fucking. Times!” _ He emphasized each word with a harsh poke at Luther. 

“Well, maybe that’s supposed to be a sign.” It was a stupid thing to say, and they all knew it. Even Luther knew it, realizing it the moment it left his mouth and he couldn’t take it back. The whole argument had been stupid, but that was cherry on top.

“Shut up, Luther.” Diego snapped.

“That’s not fair,” Vanya cried, indignant.

Allison just shook her head, Klaus looked on numbly. He didn’t have Ben with him to suggest smart things to add, and he couldn’t find the energy in himself to come up with something they would all take seriously. 

Five scoffed, looking for all the world like he had another diatribe saved up but just realized he was wasting his breath. His jaw clenched and he shook his head, refusing to look at any of them as he stalked a few paces down the alley.

“Five, wait!” Diego called after their smallest brother, breaking from his place in the circle to go after him. He got a few paces from their teleporter before he blipped away somewhere else.

Diego raised his arms in defeat, turning back to glare at Luther. “Good job, you just chased off the guy with the briefcase.”

It was true. Throughout all of that, Five had kept his grip on the briefcase, keeping it stubbornly at his side.

“Screw him,” Luther said, but didn’t have the same fire as a minute ago. “We were all doing fine until Five showed up.”

“Were we though?” Klaus challenged, finding himself siding easily with Five for once. “I mean, you were a pit fighter, Diego was in an insane asylum, I was being chased by my cult. The only ones  _ doing fine _ were Allison and her civil rights movement, and Vanya and her farm frau.”

“I mean before he stranded us.”

“Oh yeah, we were all doing  _ great _ . Having not spoken to each other for ten years.” Allison snapped at him, making Luther lose whatever was left of the anger he was holding on to.

They didn’t get a chance to finish before Five popped back into the alley, stumbling from a rip in space and colliding roughly with Klaus. “We gotta go, no time.” This close to him, Klaus could see the sweat sheen across his face and the dark circles bagged heavy beneath his eyes. Five heaved for air, leaned against Klaus a little too hard for him not to notice.

A window above them opened and a battle cry echoed down into the alley way. The siblings didn’t say anything, didn’t complain or argue. They huddled up close to their smallest member and let him whisk them all away somewhere else.

Their third group transit of the day was the roughest yet. Five dropped them, literally, a few streets over. His rip appeared several feet off the ground and had them all laying in a heap this time fighting off their collective nausea. 

“How do you get used to the churning,” Diego moaned softly from his place.

“We need--” Five grunted, climbing unsteadily to his feet and stumbling down to the street entrance. He stood there for a moment, looking both ways down the street, his back turned to them. One hand steadied himself on a building, the other was using a handkerchief to mop the sweat from his face. “We need to find shelter.”

Klaus thought that was a weird way to say it.  _ Shelter _ was such a survivalist word; it made him think of pitched tents and campfires.

Five turned back to them after a minute. “Hurry up, we don’t have time to lay here. They’re already looking for us.”

There was a collective groan from the group, but no one had any more complaints to make.

“Where are we going?” Diego asked, being the first to recover. He started pulling Vanya to her feet, helping to keep her steady as a wave of post-transit dizziness hit her.

“There’s a motel nearby. We’ll get a room.”

“We have no money,” Luther pointed out.

Five shot him a look meant to make them all feel small. “We are a group of super-powered individuals, one of whom can brainwash people.”

“Is that really safe? Being this close to the academy?” Diego asked, ignoring Allison indignant noise.

“We shouldn’t stray too far, and we’re not staying long. We just need a place to regroup. And rest.” He said the last part with the barest of hesitations, a note of exhaustion that reminded them that yes, they were all in fact very tired.

“Rest sounds wonderful.” Klaus agreed, pulling himself off the ground using one of Luther’s limp arms like a rope.

“Why do I have to do it?” Allison asked, failing to hide the complaint in her tone.

“You got any better ideas?” Five was clearly starting to lose his patience. He scoffed at them and turned his back again to regard the street. He wiped his face with the handkerchief, shaking his head. 

No one did, of course. They picked themselves up, brushed the dirt from their clothes, and followed their smallest member out into the street of a familiarly strange city.

The motel Five took them to wasn’t the best. The buildings had chipped and faded paint, rotted gutters, and cracked walls. The manager’s office smelled like catpiss, popcorn, and unwashed bodies.

Allison was the only one sent inside, despite Luther’s complaints about that. Five made it clear he didn’t trust their Number One not to mess things up, which just served to rile Luther up even more. He pouted angrily by the door upon Allison’s request only. Klaus and Vanya shared a nearby bench. Five had said he was going to check the perimeter and the moment he said it Diego agreed to also check the grounds for danger.

“I only got two connected rooms,” Klaus could hear the clerk inform Allison. What their sister said to him next was lost, but Klaus could make an educated guess.

“It’s crazy how much we’ve been through,” Vanya said quietly. She was looking down at her hands, looking small and lost.

Klaus knew she missed Sissy, like he missed Dave. Lovers lost to time, and that was the bitch of it. There was no comfort he could give her that he didn’t sorely need himself. Especially now with their Ben gone... He reached across the space between them and took her hands in his. “We’ll always love them and they’ll always love us, no matter when or where we end up.”

Vanya looked surprised, blinking away sneaky tears that brimmed in her eyes. “Klaus…”

He found himself smiling at her, even as a lump in his throat threatened to choke him. “We just have to stick together.” He meant that, now more than ever before. He had never been totally alone, and he was not about to start now.

Vanya rewarded him with a sweet smile that eased the ache in his chest the tiniest bit. She scooted next to him on the bench, resting her head on his shoulder. Klaus wrapped one arm around her, sighing heavily as she relaxed into his side. They had to stick together now, no matter what, no matter how irritated they got at each other.

Five flopped heavily down onto the bench on the other side of Vanya. He sat impeccably still for a few seconds, staring at them mutely, watching. Finally he asked, “You guys alright?”

The way he said it seemed a little odd to them, somewhere between irritated and genuinely concerned. Klaus and Vanya both looked over at him, touched if not surprised. Five was asking after their well being and that brought some comfort to Klaus. He didn’t have the words for him yet so he smiled at the boy, trying to put as much warmth and sappiness as he could muster into the expression.

He wasn’t sure what Five was expecting, but to be looked at with that sort of affection was probably not it. His expression fluttered across a quick range of things, all so fleeting that Klaus had no chance of getting a read on him.

“We’re okay, just sticking together,” Vanya assured him.

“Good,” Five said, his voice gentle and approving. “That’s what we need right now.” He sat against the bench further, letting the tension in his back go. He brought the briefcase up to sit on his lap, wrapping both arms protectively around it.

A moment later, Allison emerged from the manager’s office, holding two room keys. “Okay, good news, I got two connected rooms.”

“Excellent, good job.” Five cheered from his place on the bench. It was a bit uncharacteristic of him to say without an ounce of his usual sarcasm, so everyone looked at him and forgot to ask Allison what the bad news was.

To their credit, they found out shortly after.

“It only has three beds,” Diego had joined them in the room. They all stood around looking sadly at their pathetic new digs.

“We’ll just have to share,” Vanya encouraged. “Not like we’ve never shared beds before.”

“As children,” Allison reminded her.

“I’m not sharing with Luther.” Diego announced.

“I call dibs on Vanya.” Allison said a beat later. Vanya smiled.

“Then I’ll take Klaus,” Diego sidled up closer to him. “You sleep like a corpse anyway, aside from the talking.”

“Aww, Diego, that’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me,” Klaus cooed, wrapping his brother in a hug. Diego accepted it without complaint, but made a point of not reacting to it.

Five had ducked into the room and was sitting on his legs between the window and the bed. The briefcase had vanished, Klaus said nothing, knowing it was probably in the vent. This room was not unlike the one Hazel and Cha Cha had tortured him in. The memory slid off him, one of many horrible situations he had found himself in.

Five didn’t stand when he was finished, Klaus watched with minor interest. Five sat back on his knees, wiped his face with the handkerchief again. Klaus caught a glimpse of it before he could shove it in his pocket, spied the dark stains that looked a little too fresh to not be suspicious.

“So no one wants to share with me?” Luther sounded so dejected it distracted Klaus from Five. Their biggest brother was looking between him and Allison as if those were his two choices and if Klaus wasn’t so tired, he would have found that a bit flattering.

“Share with Five,” Diego said, a laugh in his voice.

“Absolutely not,” Five snapped from his place on the floor. 

The girls shared a giggle. Vanya pointed into the other room. “It’s a king size, so there’s room.” She said with a goading smile that only seemed to deflate Luther further.

Five didn’t say anything right away, using the bed to push himself to his feet. It took him a worrying amount of effort, and Klaus suddenly knew that if Ben were there, he would be demanding Klaus say something. Klaus had heard about the shrapnel incident and recognized the fact that Five was probably trying to hide something from them.

Calling Five out in front of everyone was not going to accomplish anything, especially not after the argument him and Luther had had in the alley way. If he said anything now, Five would throw up his walls and do his expert deflection routine that Klaus was beginning to recognize for the coping mechanism that it was. His trauma was at least good for something, Klaus thought bitterly.

“I guess someone is going to be sleeping on the floor,” Five said with a dry smile, giving Luther a pointed look.

“What?” Luther cried, looking even more betrayed. “How is that even fair? You have the youngest body, if anyone should be sleeping on the floor, it should be you.”

It was sound logic, but Klaus liked the idea of messing with Luther more. “The floor’s not so bad, big guy,” he teased. “I sleep on it all the time.”

Luther shot him an exasperated look but didn’t say anything.

“I’m not sure I would want to share with the murder gremlin anyway,” Diego tossed out, walking past Luther to get into the bathroom. He paused to pat him on the shoulder. “And I wouldn’t deny him the bed, either.”

“Murder gremlin?” Vanya asked with a laugh barely contained by her hand. 

Diego flashed her a smile from where he had paused beside Luther. “He’s a gremlin, and he murders things.”

“Not anymore,” Five countered, his voice a little louder than necessary. “I told you, I was done with that.”

“Yeah, right.” Diego snorted, pointing an accusatory finger at Five. “You said you were done before you took out the Board.” His voice was light, but it didn’t seem to upset Five any less. 

He teleported across the room before Diego could retreat into the bathroom, cutting him off by bowling into him. Diego caught his arms, steadied him, surprised by the teleport and the fury in his eyes.

Five pointed a finger in Diego’s face, but leaned heavily into his brother without meaning to. He wavered on his feet, but still managed to look menacing. “I had good reasons for that,” he hissed, voice low and dangerous. “I mean it this time. No more killing.”

“Okay, alright, I was just joking. I believe you.” Diego placated him. “I believe you.” He adjusted the grip he had on his smaller brother, concern flickering across his face. “Are you okay?”

Five shoved him away hard, standing on his own and straightening his jacket. “I’m fine. I’m taking a shower. Someone should order food.” He turned sharply and disappeared into the bathroom without another word. The door shut between them with finality and left a silence in its wake.

Luther cleared his throat, trying to catch Diego’s eye for an explanation. Diego, to his credit, looked distinctly ashamed, regarding the closed door with a sort of miffed concern.

“Wait, so who did Five kill?” Vanya asked, managing to make the question seem both loaded and innocent at the same time.

“Just more time traveling assholes,” Diego answered after a lengthy pause. “Honestly,” he said this part louder in an obvious attempt to be heard through the bathroom door. “It turned out to be a good thing or they’d still be trying to kill us.”

“Shut up, Diego!” Five called through the door, in the same  _ I’m-tolerating-you-but-I’ll-still-kill-you _ tone he used on them often.

Klaus knew he should do something. Something was up with Five, but the others were beginning to disperse. It hadn’t escaped him the way Diego practically caught him out of a teleport, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Diego either. He lingered outside the bathroom, lost in thought.

Klaus sidled up to him as Luther lumbered off to find the take out menus. Allison disappeared into the other room, and Vanya went to help Luther. Klaus stood beside Diego for a long minute before he said, very quietly so that only Diego would hear him, “I think he’s hiding something.”

Diego flashed him a side-long glance. “When isn’t he?” He turned and walked away, snatching the menu from Luther’s hands and starting a lighthearted debate with him.

Klaus frowned and automatically looked for Ben, only for the reality to punch him in the face again. He missed his brother’s constant presence and devoted compassion to his family. Ben paid attention to everything, to everyone. Ben would have encouraged him to do what he needed to do next, even as Klaus hesitated.

Five wouldn’t be happy, but Klaus needed to know he was okay. He took a steadying breath, steeled himself for what was likely to be his death, and gave the door a single three-tap knock before barging in. Five had tried to lock the door, but it was flimsy and snapped open easily with very little effort from Klaus.

He swung the door in, slipped inside, and closed it behind him. He’d never tried a real one on one with Five before, so he didn’t want the others interrupting him. “Hey, old man.”

Five looked up when he entered, having already rid himself of his blazer and vest. He had been standing in front of the sink, but now he stood back, watching Klaus with thinly veiled irritation hiding beneath mild curiosity.

“Can I help you, Klaus?”

Klaus paused, cursing himself. He probably should have thought about what he wanted to say before barging in here. Five wasn’t going to give him very long, so he needed to think fast. “Uh, actually I was just wondering…” he trailed off, wracking his brain. “If maybe, I could… help  _ you _ ?” He tried to smile convincingly, but knew it probably came off disingenuous.

Five scoffed at him, rolling his eyes. “I don’t really have the energy for this.” He sounded like he meant it, but still managed to make it sound rude. He leaned a hip against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Klaus an expectant look. “So cut to the chase or get out.”

“I mean that,” Klaus said, stepping closer. “You weren’t looking so good out there.”

Five’s demeanor changed ever so slightly, his eyes squinting in sudden mistrust. Klaus could see the walls coming up. He took his weight off the sink. “It’s been a rough week,” he admitted quietly. “For all of us. You were pretty sick yesterday.”

Had that only been yesterday? Ben possessed him, Five threw a tantrum about deadlines and hating his family, Luther was a giant kicked puppy. Klaus had been so angry at his deceased brother at the time. He would give anything for Ben to possess him again. This would have been so much easier with him there. Ben not being there felt like Klaus had lost his arms and legs. It was a body of pain and the prevailing feeling of having some important part of him missing.

“Klaus?” Five asked, much closer and gentler than before.

“Hmm?” He must have drifted off thinking about Ben again. Five had crossed the small bathroom to stand in front of him, looking up at him with some measure of calculated concern. Klaus was being assessed, observed, checked over.

“Did you want to talk about something? About Ben?” Five had adopted a gentleness that Klaus found deeply comforting. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him, but it did; the fact that Five always seemed to pick up on what was going on with his siblings, even when he acted so aloof and detached. 

Tears pricked his eyes and he really wanted a hug but knew that would probably be too much to ask for. After a minute he nodded, failing to keep a whimper from getting out, but it was better than the sob that was threatening.

Five nodded, his expression schooled carefully into something resembling patience and understanding. He gestured to the toilet. “Sit, talk. I need to wash.” All business, but friendly business.

This was not Klaus’s aim, but Five wasn’t kicking him out, and he was being brotherly. Klaus was not planning to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. He perched himself on the toilet, curling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them.

Five went back to the sink, next to the toilet, and gave his reflection an appraising look. Klaus did nothing for a minute, unsure what to say so he watched instead. Five glanced at him but didn’t say anything either. The silence was uncomfortable.

“So,” Klaus tried to break the ice but had nothing else behind it.

“Yes?” Five didn’t meet his gaze, pulled a washcloth from the rack over Klaus’s head and soaked it in the sink. He didn’t pause to check on Klaus before he buried his face in the rough material and started scrubbing the dirt from his skin. 

Five was hardly gentle with himself; one of the cuts over his temple started crying again. It was attached to a decent sized bruise that was becoming easier to spot now that the dirt was getting cleared away.

“Jesus, who did that?”

“Lila,” Five answered easily. “I think it was a frying pan.” He pursed his lips, one hand gently brushing the irritated skin before he moved on to his arms.

Klaus hissed. He’d never personally been hit in the head with a frying pan, but he could imagine it didn’t feel great.

That wasn’t the only injury, of course. They all had cuts and bruises, even Klaus, but Five’s white shirt was covered in old blood stains and Klaus wasn’t sure he was ready to ask what he knew he had to. Five had scrapes up his arms that smarted and bled new again as he roughly wiped the dirt from them.

“Why are you so rough?” Klaus opted for what he hoped would be an easier question.

Five looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

Klaus gestured to all of him. “They wouldn’t bleed if you didn’t scrub so hard.”

“We don’t have any rubbing alcohol,” Five replied as if that was supposed to answer his question.

“So?”

Five paused to roll his eyes at Klaus. “I have to get the dirt out of the cuts. It’s good they bleed,” he replied nonchalantly.

“Why don’t you just take a shower?”

The child-man tilted his head, irritation chasing his features before he managed to control himself. “Because you’re here,” he bit out. Klaus could feel the effort he was putting into being nice.

“Well, don’t let me stop you.”

Five dropped the washcloth in the sink with a wet  _ slop _ , unable to hide the irritation anymore. “Why are you really here? If not to talk about Ben, or--” he gestured to the dogtags, “that?”

Klaus touched the stamped aluminum, running his fingers over the cool metal. “Oh, I’m just a little worried,” Klaus replied absently, gazing past him to the tiled wall beyond.

“About?”

“You.”

“Why?” A loaded question, Klaus knew, but Five’s tone was kept carefully conversational.

“You look like you’re going to fall over.”

Five scoffed, but discreetly stopped leaning on the sink again. “I’m fine, Klaus. Worry about yourself.”

“There see,” he pointed at Five. “You’re leaning on things.”

“I am not.”

“You leaned on me, you leaned on Diego, and now you’re trying not to lean on the sink.” He reached out his hand for Five’s and tried to not be hurt when the boy recoiled from him. He tried to convey himself with a look instead, the same affectionate look that had startled Five earlier. “I can help you.”

“No,” Five replied instantly, quiet and dangerous. An ocean of rage churned beneath the surface of his eyes and Klaus had the sudden distinct desire to flee.

_ Keep it together, Klaus. _ He hated when even his own thoughts managed to sound like Ben.  _ Keep it together, for him. _

“I’m really not here to piss you off,” he said gently, hoping to abate the murderous intent in the other man’s eyes. 

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job,” Five hissed. He wavered suddenly, one hand shot out and steadied himself on the sink again. “Go.” It still had all the quiet fury of a brewing hurricane, but Klaus could see the cracks in his demeanor starting to show. No snark, no insult, just a demand. Five really was at the end of his rope. It had been a very long rope, but nonetheless finite.

“Not until you talk to me.” He felt encouraged by the other’s lapse in control. Five was usually so neat and tidy with his emotions, but it was obvious the vice like grip was not enough at the moment.

Five slammed his fist into the sink, the whole thing groaning under the pressure. He got up into his brother’s face, leaning down over the sink to do so. “Klaus, I swear to  _ god _ , if you don’t  _ leave, _ right now, I will find your personal hell, drop you in it, and swallow the key. Got it?” His smile was full of daggers and death, an edge of manic rage leaking into the shine of his eyes.

Yeah, Klaus got it. But Klaus was already in his own personal hell. How much pain could little Number Five inflict that the loss of Ben hadn’t already? Usually, he wouldn’t want to challenge the teleporter because he simply did not want to test the lengths of his cruelty.

But at this point, Klaus figured that the worst that could happen had already done so. 

“Not. Until. You. Talk to me.” Klaus stood up so that he towered instead of Five. He tried to match the glare with a stern look, and only hoped it had the power he needed without being condescending. He tried to keep the waver from his voice, proud of himself for managing to make it sound strong.

Five sucked in a sharp breath, let it out through his nose. He shook his head, taking a step back. His eyes darted across the bathroom, and Klaus was reminded of a wild animal looking for an escape. 

Klaus knew Five’s intention several seconds after it occurred to the teleporter. “No, no, wait--” Klaus reached out for him in vain, too slow. 

Five was swallowed by a rip in the fabric of space, leaving Klaus behind in the bathroom alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The internal monologue is strong with this one.

It was getting harder to teleport. Each new jump was like a punch to his gut or a hard landing after a long fall. It knocked the air from him and left him stumbling for balance.

At least Five could still say his jumps were accurate, even if they spat him out a little hard. He landed where he intended, just outside the hotel room, on the walkway. They were on the second floor, so it would have been embarrassing if he missed. Five never missed, he hadn’t miscalculated while sober in years (but he hadn’t been this tired in years, either).

This jump was the roughest one yet, the tear in space clinging to him as he ripped himself through it. He stumbled forward, his head spinning, catching himself on the rail.

“Five!” Allison’s voice cut through the roar in his ears. She stood at the railing to his left, a cigarette between two fingers and a bewildered expression on her face. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He must have looked shaken, dressed down in only his white shirt and shorts. He felt shaken, he supposed. (A distant part of him noted his own heart rate and quietly criticized the tremble in his hands.) He gripped the railing and pushed himself off of it, slowly at first for some semblance of control. He looked out across the parking lot, unable to let go of the rail.

“Five?” Allison asked again.

“Klaus chased me out of the bathroom.” Yes, blame Klaus, good plan. It was easier than trying to find something else to say. Nothing wrong with the (half) truth, and his brain was too full of cotton to convincingly lie anyway. He knew he looked like shit, if Klaus of all people had taken notice. He wanted to sleep, not have his siblings fussing uselessly over nothing.

“Oh,” was all she said in response. Apparently, she was not in a great mood, either.

“Are  _ you _ okay?” He flipped the question back on her. It was obvious that she was not.

He really should have been more attentive. Luther had gone straight to arguing with him so Five mentally excused himself from that responsibility until his biggest brother came back to his miniscule senses. Klaus, on the other hand, was being  _ weird _ , in a not-Klausy way that made Five uncomfortable.  _ But _ it had been nice to see him and Vanya sharing a moment together, finding comfort in each other,  _ sticking together _ . So Five instantly forgave Klaus for being nosy, even if it was irritating and denied him a much needed shower. Besides, their seance seemed considerably more demure in the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours (it was all starting to blur together, how long had it been?) and Five could only guess it had something to do with Ben.

Vanya had told them about Ben, what he had done, how he had saved them. The one brother Five seemed incapable of helping, the one brother who managed to help him the most. 

God, he missed Ben.

Allison wasn’t looking at him anymore. She turned her shoulder from him, looking out across the parking lot as well. He waited for her, could feel her thoughts churning in the empty air around them. Finally, she spoke. “I’m worried about Claire.”

Oh.

Five had nothing for that, no comfort, no knowledge he was completely sure on. “She still exists,” he told her. He hoped it wasn’t a lie.

“But where? How do you know?” She regarded him with red tearful eyes that chipped at the cold lump of granite that may have been his heart once. 

“Your lives haven’t vanished, we’re just not--” How to explain the complex positioning of multiple timelines to someone with no concept of quantum mechanics. Just like his apocalypse hadn’t vanished, he knew Allison’s daughter was out there, just not out in the current there. “She still exists,” he ended up repeating. “We’ll get back, I just need time to figure it out.”

“I haven’t seen her in years, Five. I don’t know how much longer I can wait. And now, she’s not even--” she choked on her words, her face twisting into anguish and despair.

_ Please don’t cry. _ He reached out to touch her shoulder. It wasn’t enough, he could feel her breaking piece by piece under his hand, but it was all he had to offer. Useless words, and useless comforts. 

Useless things got left behind. He needed to pick up and get back to work. He needed to save them. Again. 

From his own fuck up.  _ Again. _

Maybe somewhere in Luther’s big dumb brain, he had a point.

Five shook the thought away, he needed to stay focused. Now was not the time to be doubting himself. Doubt killed faster than the hunger and thirst, it killed faster than bullets and knives. It was the only thing capable of killing him and he needed to stave it off for as long as possible.

Allison sobbed, her cigarette forgotten until it burned down to nothing. She used the railing to support herself, and it kept her up where Five failed.

He was an idiot. Yes, really. He’d been so focused on getting them from point A to Z with all limbs intact that he forgot just how fragile they were on the inside. Where Five had an endless void inside where his emotions echoed into nothingness, all his siblings were fully real emotional human beings that occasionally had  _ issues _ with their place in time.

He was trying his damndest to be attentive to that. It was hard when it was easy to forget. ( _ Remember how you felt when you realized you were really stuck.) _ The distant memory of anguish crawling up his throat, gripping his heart, strumming a panic in his veins that he quickly shoved down on.

He was tired, but he still had control. It passed, and he was back in the past-future-present with Allison sobbing over her daughter and Five with only a hand on her shoulder for comfort. He should say something.

“It’s going to be okay, Allison.”

She suddenly looked at him, hope shining painfully in her eyes. “Promise?”

_ Oh god, please stop crying, I’m sorry I keep hurting you. _

Allison stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug, pressing him to her chest like he was a lifeline and she was drowning. He sucked in a breath and didn’t move. Her grip was hard, his body ached (the distant part of him complained sharply about it), but this was Allison. She wasn’t going to hurt him so he let the breath out and put his hands gingerly on her back.

He’d been hugged before, plenty of times. The commission had spent one of his training weeks having random people come give him hugs and other casual human contact so that he would stop reacting to it. It was one of the more annoying exercises they had forced upon him, especially the part where two-thirds of the random visitors would then try to attack him. 

The hardest part hadn’t been the apocalypse. By all means, it was the most anguish he had ever been in (more than the shame, more than the guilt, more than knowing what they turned him into), but at least back then his loneliness was never his fault. No, the hardest part had been relearning all the ways human beings interacted with each other. It had been the part when he realized that it didn’t matter anymore how many or how few people were actually there with him. Five would never stop being isolated, he would never reconnect again. He would always be alone, and it was entirely the result of his own inability. Cut off, severed, an aberration. 

Allison finally let him go, wiping the tears from her eyes, an apology on her lips.

“Don’t be sorry, I get it.” He didn’t, not really. Had no idea what having a child would feel like and honestly couldn’t fathom what that connection would mean to someone. But the words seemed to bring Allison some comfort, so he took it as a small victory.

Besides, his body was humming (with anxiety) and he was glad she had finally let him go and didn’t seem to have any plans to hug him again.

They were both quiet for a time, but it was comfortable, companionable silence that Five actually sort of enjoyed (the distant part of him screamed into the void about the aching loneliness but he ignored it-- it didn’t sound like Delores anymore, so he could). 

-

Food showed up. Luther had ordered most of it, Allison rumored the delivery girl after some complaining. The need for food was more pressing than her morals at the moment, for which Five was grateful. Not really for the food, of course, but for the coffee. Specially ordered by Vanya for him (and another chip against his lump of granite). 

It was still hot when it arrived, and he was not entirely expecting it. Neither Vanya, Luther, nor Diego informed him they had ordered him anything at all and he wouldn’t have minded if they hadn’t. There was a coffee maker in the room, but he knew the quality would be pisspoor.

The first sip was like heaven for his pounding head. The cotton felt like it got washed out with the rich smell and the warm bliss filling his chest chased away the tremor hiding at his core. He sighed, briefly contented. It was good coffee.

He spied Vanya beaming at him from the table and it spread a warmth inside him he tried to tell himself was the coffee (the distant part knew it was because his sister was smiling at him and wondered why it was the smiles that made him feel something). He nodded his thanks to her, her smile managing to get even bigger. At least he could make  _ someone _ feel better, even if he didn’t quite remember how that all worked. 

The others had gathered themselves around one of the bigger tables in the king room, Luther and Allison spread the dozen or so food containers for easy access. Vanya was passing out paper plates, Diego rifling through all the bags and containers not yet opened.

Klaus emerged from the bathroom when the smell of food had permeated the entire motel room and leaked into the next one through the open door connecting them. He sauntered in, bare-chested with his long coat open and his weird leather pants, smelling of soap and clean water. He offered Five an apologetic smile, to which Five had no answer to. He wasn’t mad, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge it, either. He found something interesting on the lid of his cup to distract him until he heard Klaus start talking to someone else about the food.

Five wanted his shower. He still had blood from the Board on his skin, in his hair, on his clothes. The ten minute wash he had had in 1963 was enough to hide it all so he could just finish the job, get what he needed done, save his family. But now the filth mixed with the guilt and shame and it burned his flesh from the inside out. His stomach was a twist of knots and lumps and only part of it was the ache in his body. Whatever the  _ thing _ churning in his gut was ( _ it’s an emotion, Five, you still have those _ ), it was threatening to sour his appetite and he didn’t want to risk it.

He sipped his coffee, and decided to slip off back into the other room. This room also had a bathroom, but everyone else was in this room and the other one was quiet without their chatter. Maybe, if they weren’t in there (and he was very lucky), no one would barge in on him again.

“Where’re you going, Five?” Vanya asked, a plate of food in each hand, looking at him with an expectant gaze that crawled all over him. Leaving would disappoint her, and now the whole room was looking at him trying to sneak away.

“Shower,” he told them blithely, letting Vanya’s reaction slide off of him. 

Allison furrowed her brow, looking a little offended. “But the food just got here.”

He held up the coffee. “I got mine.”

“That’s not food, Five,” her voice echoed a motherly tone that chafed against his patience. 

He tried not to let the irritation grab him like it did in the bathroom with Klaus. He took a breath, gestured to the other room. “Shower first.” He was disgusting, they wouldn’t want him eating beside them until he cleaned up. 

Vanya crossed the room while he met Allison’s gaze and silently challenged her to stop him. She didn’t need to, not with Vanya coming in for the sneak attack. She shoved the plate at Five, an infuriatingly patient smile on her face for him.

He took the plate. What choice did he have? (Vanya was his weakness.)

They started sitting down, finding places and perches all throughout the room, making a circle, but giving each other space. As always, there was a gap left, of course, for Ben. Klaus stared at it instead of eating his food, the haunted sorrow coming over his face that Five had seen in the bathroom. Vanya stared at the empty space too, but sighed after a moment and started eating.

Five looked down at his plate, his stomach curling tighter. Cheap, greasy, unhealthy, but at least it smelled half decent. The way the noodles tangled together on the plate reminded him of intestines (-- _ hanging out of the man he had just disemboweled, spraying him in blood, crawling into his mouth, consuming the void inside with white hot rage-- _ ).

The plate shook in his hand, so he set it down on the nearest table as if it had scalded him. His stomach threatened to turn violent inside him, hot and burning at the back of his throat. He couldn’t stay here. The room was too small, there wasn’t enough air in it for all of them. 

He knew he shouldn’t teleport, he meant to walk out as casually as ever. The walk turned into a thrum inside him and he was ripping himself through space without thinking.

He stumbled out of light into total darkness, colliding with a wall. His legs gave out, his head split open ( _ \--the axe cutting easily through bone and flesh--)  _ by a piercing headache that seemed to grip him and throw him to the ground.

He felt himself clutch his head, could feel his own fingers in his hair, but they didn’t feel like his. The pain rolled across him in waves, each one striking into him like a bell, rushing to the beat of his erratic heart, broken and too fast.

It took him a long moment to regain some measure of control, and it was only by biting his own lip until he tasted blood. The rushing in his ears ran out, the pounding in his head quieted to a gentle rumble again, and the screaming inside (that refused to sound like Delores) finally died down to a murmur he could ignore.

Where had he landed? Someplace pitch black, small, and cramped, and that smelled suspiciously of cleaning chemicals.

Ah. A closet. Excellent. That wasn’t embarrassing at all.

Nope, he had meant to do that. That was what he was going to tell his siblings, and anything to the contrary was going to his grave. He absolutely meant to teleport blindly and find himself in a lightless cleaning closet where he could have a small (meltdown? panic? tantrum? ) moment alone with himself.

He took a breath, found the smell in here unpleasant, and opted to find the door. He opened it to find himself still on the second floor, a door down from on their rented motel rooms. He’d been aiming for the bathroom but shot too far and ended up in the next available space that was big enough for him to exist in. Mass displacement resistance stopped him from ending up in a wall, one of the first things his father had taught him. He couldn’t appear in a place with too much existing mass, the math involved strived to default him into the next available space.

In this case, the cleaning closet on the other side of the wall.

He was not going to teleport again until he got some sleep ( _ heed that headache, darling, or you won’t have a choice _ ). A shower was an absolute requirement, and then he would figure out what happened to his coffee, and probably end up making a new one. He was pretty sure it didn’t make it into the cleaning closet with him, so it was probably spilled all over the floor where he’d been standing. A damn shame, but unavoidable.

The door to their rooms was locked of course. He didn’t have a key; it never occurred to him that he might have needed it. He sighed, resting his forehead against the door. It was cold against his skin, grounding him back in the present and keeping the rush of his thoughts a little quieter.

He was so tired.

He supposed he would just go for a walk and come back when he felt up to teleporting again.

( _ Or you could just knock. They’ll let you in.) _

“I’m not knocking.”

( _ Because you’re embarrassed?) _

“No, I’m not going to ask them to let me back in when they just chased me out.”

( _ They didn’t chase you out.) _

“Well.” He didn’t have anything to stay.

( _ Wipe your face, you’re bleeding again.) _

He did so absently, pulling the already bloodied handkerchief from his pocket and cleaning his face. The bleed had been slow, and why his nose of all places, he didn’t know. It was another annoyance he just needed to sleep off. He sniffed a few times, smelling it, ignoring the way it churned his stomach.

He hesitated, raised his fist, then thought better of it. He couldn’t go back in there, he couldn’t face them. His swift exit would not have gone unnoticed and he just couldn’t find it in himself to come up with a half decent lie. His pride wouldn’t allow for the truth.

( _ Pride be damned, Five.) _

“It’s not happening. I’ll just go for a walk, check the equation. Next time I won’t--”

( _ Miss?) _

“I didn’t  _ miss _ ,” he hissed, closing his eyes against the pounding in his head.

_ (You missed.) _

“No.”

( _ Big fat miss, right into a cleaning closet.) _

“Delores, please just shut up.” He turned to snap at her, finding himself standing alone on the motel walkway, talking to himself. He sighed, feeling empty. 

He missed his wife.

“I’m sorry, that was rude. You didn’t deserve that,” he spoke to the air. When she didn’t say anything back, he knew he’d lost her again.

-

The walk did him some good. Helped to clear his head and calm his nerves. The day was warm and it smelled like spring, like fresh cut grass and wild flowers and gentle rain. Nature when it was kind to humanity, a new reality for Five that he cherished as much as his family.

One of the few things the commission could never ruin for him were sunny days. Besides, he figured this would be a good time to do some reconnaissance. His siblings were going to be preoccupied with food, and probably showering themselves, and sleeping. He didn’t expect them to be of much nuisance for a little while, and he would take advantage of that. Five admitted to himself that, yeah, he would have also liked to shower then food then sleep in that order, but time was always of the essence.

It was a nice day to get locked out, and a convenient excuse to tell himself. He ran with it, banished the embarrassing closet happening from his mind (as well as the way Delores had spoken to him as if she was there, but she wasn’t and that made the distant part of him ache with longing).

There was a gas station at the end of the block. Five knew he looked like he had just walked through hell and back ( _ Klaus _ noticed), and he wished he’d had the foresight to at least grab his blazer so he wasn’t walking around in a bloody button up and tie. As it was, the counter clerk was too busy ringing someone else up for him to take notice of Five.

He snatched a newspaper off the rack by the door and dove down one of the aisles to get a little privacy while he skimmed through the pages. April 2nd, 2019. “ _ Pope Takes Swipe At President _ ” read the headline, beneath was a picture of an old man in heavy white robes at a pulpit. Five snorted at the petty politics. Small picture stuff.

He turned the page, found a brief article about a bank robbery stopped by the Sparrow Academy. It was mostly fluff, referencing events Five had no knowledge of, not clearly identifying any of the members or even their abilities. It was a frustrating dead end.

He’d take it back to the others anyway. They’d bicker over the significance but at least it would give them something to focus on that wasn’t their lost lives in an alternate timeline. He tucked the paper under his arm and perused the store, counting the cameras, tracing their sightlines. He picked up a jar of peanut butter, a bag of marshmallows, and a loaf of bread through his journey and finally ended up in the aisle with the blind spot.

Delores would probably have yelled at him, had she been there, for what he was about to attempt. Now, Five was not only capable of teleporting himself and others, but also inanimate objects. He didn’t even need to be touching them. It was a simple matter of opening a rift around a distant object instead of himself with a spatial displacement variable. He just needed to know where the object was coming from and going to and how much mass he would be displacing. If he didn’t, it turned the equation into an unsolvable differential.

Why not just teleport himself out? Well, easy. He didn’t think he had the energy to open a rip big enough for himself. The headache from the last one had crippled him for several minutes and he couldn’t afford that in this strange timeline. On the other hand, small items like some paper money that weighed practically nothing? Literal child’s play.

The stack of money in the register till behind the counter would be, however, an interesting mathematical challenge in that both the location and the mass would be rough estimates. At least he could keep it within a range.

He sat on the linoleum, grabbed a pack of markers off one of the racks and ripped them open. He could do the crunch in his head but he would need to keep track of a dozen values and the cotton had taken back its home in his skull, leaving no room for a list of numbers.

That was how Diego found him. “Five?”

Five glanced up from his work, spying his brother at the end of the aisle and immediately dismissing his presence. Probably came shopping (hopefully not looking for him), the gas station was conveniently close by.

Diego came to stand in front of him, watching him write numbers on the floor. Five tried to ignore him but he could feel him watching, could practically hear the judgement. Usually it would roll off of him but he was tired and his irritation was already at a simmer. He snapped his head up to glare at his brother.

It seemed as if that was what Diego was waiting for. “Hey Five.”

“What do you want?”

Diego scoffed, disagreeing with his tone. He looked up to the shelf above Five’s head and reached over to grab a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “Klaus said we needed some.”

“Oh he did, how nice,” Five snapped, failing to make it sound completely nonchalant.

“Yeah, he said you needed some.”

“You’re mistaken.” The smile Five flashed him was condescending at best.

Diego was unphased. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“We all got checked out at the farm. Vanya restitched your shank wound because you tore it open, remember?” Five didn’t bother trying to hide his exasperation, Diego was just being a pain in the ass. Five was fine aside from a few cuts and bruises. It had been a rough few weeks but his shrapnel wound was healing. It hadn’t reopened since his visit (killing spree) with the Board, and that had been…. Some time ago in the last while that was long enough he didn’t need to worry about it anymore.

Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.

“Funny you say that because I remember you told me Vanya checked you.”

“Yeah, and?” (Shit.)

“Vanya said you told her I did it.”

He squinted up at his brother, feeling his hackles rise. This was more than just irritating. This was stupid. So what if he wanted to lick his wounds in private? He’d never had someone to help patch him up before, not for 45 years living amongst the dead, nor his time as a tool for the commission. Five took care of himself, it had always been like that and two weeks with these imbeciles was not going to change that.

Actually, scratch all of that. The most irritating thing about this whole thing, this whole day, was that this was the second time one of his siblings had managed to corner him with questions or demands. He was usually so much better at this. (Sleep, cried the distant part.)

“Have you been conspiring against me?” The thought occurred to him often, but he usually banished it. What reason had he ever given them to talk about him behind his back...? 

Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t have used Luther as his paradox spotter. He had to admit he got a little… manic during all that. Not that Luther was really of any use, and it had ended up being another awful waste of time. 

“What, no. We just--” Diego sputtered uselessly for a moment. He crouched down so he was level with Five, giving him one of those naked looks of concern. “Can I just say it looks bad, alright? You’re shirt’s all bloody, you’ve hidden wounds from us before until you passed out--”

“That was different,” he explained slowly so that hopefully Diego would get it. “We were on a time limit and we were  _ this _ close to stopping the apocalypse.” If only he’d been strong enough to keep going a little longer, they could have saved Vanya and salvaged his siblings lives.

“Right, but so far as any of us can tell, we don’t have a deadline this time. Unless there’s another apocalypse coming we don’t know about?” Diego gave him a leading expression, obviously hoping Five would have a definitive answer to that.

Five laughed without meaning to. He honestly had no idea if another one was coming, but knowing his luck, he was sure to at least see them all die again one more time. The bitter irony of his life, his worst nightmare on repeat, his failures constantly thrown back into his face.

“No, not that I know of,” he admitted. 

“Okay, good.” Diego gave him a long look, but after a minute accepted his truth. “So, what about you, then?”

“I’m fine, Diego.”

“Are you?”

Five gestured to his own shirt. “Most of it isn’t even mine.” The vest and blazer covered up the vast majority of it ( _ \--blood spray, hot and cloying against his skin-- _ ), but the shirt would need to be bleached. He’d scrubbed the blood off the collar, but didn’t bother with the rest of it. His rush job was noticeable.

Diego gave him a once over, realization dawning on his face. Five knew he wasn’t going to like it even before Diego spoke. “The day you came in covered in blood. That was when you killed the Board, wasn’t it?”

Yup, didn’t like it. “Congratulations, Diego, you figured it out.”

“Damn, bro.”

Really, that was all he had to say? Five supposed it was better than him pulling something intelligent out of his ass for once. “Anything else, Diego, or can I go back to what I was doing?”

Diego looked down at the math scrawl on the floor between them. “You wanna talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Five wasn’t sure if he meant the Board or the math, but either way the answer was the same.

“I mean, it was a lot of blood, and even I thought you looked a little--” he made a gesture with his hands that Five didn’t understand. “You know, out there.”

Out there? 

Diego didn’t give him any time to say anything, apparently reading his expression. “I’m not calling you crazy, it's just that-- Did you know you and I were the only two out of all of us that actually knew who all the players were?”

“That’s not exactly unusual. Besides, the only reason you were--”

“I know, I know. Lila.” Diego waved his hand for Five to be quiet. “What I mean is that you tend to forget to tell us stuff.

“I don’t forget. I just elected not to because it keeps things simpler. Too much information at once could overload your tiny brains.”

Diego sighed shortly, the effort of rolling his eyes also rolled his shoulders. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter because it needs to change.”

Nope. Five shook his head. “No, no it doesn’t.”

Diego wasn’t expecting a straight refusal. He gave him a hard look, but had nothing to say.

“Are we done?” Five asked, impatient.

Diego scoffed, leaning back on his heels. “Yeah, whatever.” He looked down at the math scrawl again. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“I’m trying to move money out of the till so we don’t have to keep relying on Allison.”

“What for that bread and stuff? Just teleport outside.”

“Thank you, Diego, for the reminder of my own powers,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

He wanted to get away, he could feel his brain cells dying just by being in the proximity of his brother. Screw the money, it was a stupid idea anyway. The chance of him accidentally taking the whole register was too high, and he was too tired to do it right. Diego was annoying, fueling a spiteful anger inside him that would make this easier.

Headache be damned. He ripped open the bag of marshmallows, shoved a handful in his mouth, and snatched the alcohol from Diego’s hand. He gave his brother one last wordless glare before tearing into the fabric of space.

He tried to ignore the way it tore back into him, reverberating into his bones. He didn’t see where he landed, only knew it from the solid ground he hit. The sky above him was blue, clouds skittering across like a living painting. The fall knocked the air from him worse than the teleport, but was nothing to the pain that gripped his entire skull and cracked him open like an egg.

He lay there, his body disobeying, fluttering between the roaring pounding that was his existence and the sweet blissful darkness begging to take him. He needed to hold on, just wait for it to pass, get his bearings. Why couldn’t he just  _ not _ teleport? Maybe follow his own advice for once? No one listened to him, apparently, not even himself. Why couldn’t Klaus, and now Diego, and soon the others-- why couldn’t they just leave him alone?

Someone touched him, big strong hands lifting him off the wet concrete. Absently, he realized that the person was calling his name but the voice blurred and drowned in the cacophony in his head. Delicate fingers that were definitely not his threaded through his hair, ghosted across the skin on his face, lighting an unease he had no energy to answer. The voice kept talking but Five had no sense of it. It was familiar, warm. It begged him to rest.

He fought to stay grounded, fought against the darkness leaking into him. It curled tighter, itching over his skin, seeping into his mind. He had nothing left to give up but his own control, and he wasn’t even sure he had that anymore.

He was so tired. The distant parts of him were not so far, and they cried for relief.

One moment, he decided. He would take one moment, and only that, then he would get back to work. He sighed, letting himself sink, greeting the darkness like an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left a comment, kudos, or bookmark. This is the first piece of fiction I've written in several years, and I'm very touched by the warm reception it received.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this installment. Look forward to part 3 soon. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conspiracy unfolds. Five hits the pavement. Luther's there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a quick side note, with this chapter being from Luther's perspective, I want to explain my feelings about Aluther. Which is to say it makes me deeply uncomfortable. Now, I have no issue with two consenting adults having a mutually respectful relationship, but it's still weird, I'm sorry.
> 
> That being said. It's kind of an important part of Luther's character that he's in love with his sister. Ergo, I had to acknowledge it.

Luther was still a little mad at Five. Okay, so maybe not really. He wanted to be mad, but the more he thought about it the more it drained from him, making him feel stupid. 

How much could Luther really blame him for stranding them when it was a split second decision that saved their lives? It was easy to be mad when the ‘gremlin’ was nothing but angry, short, rude, and seemingly an unsympathetic bastard. The angry part of Luther rallied behind that assessment of his brother, but the rational part knew better.

Five was only like that because of all the shit he’d seen. Occasionally, the deeply caring and loyal facet of Five managed to peak out from behind the plethora of rude sarcastic comments. It didn’t make it any easier to be his brother, but it was grounds for Luther to lose some steam about their argument in the alley. They were all stressed out.

Not that Five seemed inclined to acknowledge it. Or even Luther himself. Not since the bed thing, anyway, which even Luther knew was meaningless banter. He’d end up sharing with someone and it made sense for the smallest and the biggest to squeeze in together. He would have preferred Klaus or Vanya. Hell, he would have survived a night lying besides Allison, breathing the same air as her, listening to her sleep.

Besides, Luther had seen Five sleep a grand total of one whole time. In Diego’s apartment the night they’d found him drunk at the library clutching his mannequin. He’d slept a few hours, not even all that long. Woken up to  _ finally _ tell him what was going on. He’d heard of another time by proxy. Five had collapsed somewhere and Allison and Diego had to drag him back. 

Luther had been… preoccupied that night and had only seen Five dressed in academy pajamas as proof. He had had other things on his mind that day, like the fact that his father had left him on the moon alone for four years and hadn’t even  _ looked _ at the research he did. Four years of cramped tiny spaces, devoid of fresh air, water and food. Devoid of people, devoid of life. All for nothing.

Something told Luther that it didn’t matter who shared beds with who, Five would share with no one because no one would even see him sleep. The thought occurred to Luther that maybe Five wasn’t sleeping at all, and it made a little sense with how squirrely he’d been getting. Then again, he rarely had eyes on their teleporter so he couldn’t exactly call himself an expert on Five’s sleeping habits. Or really his habits in general.

Luther had been trying to catch his eye pretty much since he came in from the outside with Allison, but he was being deftly ignored. They’d bummed around the room waiting for the food. Five perused the magazines on the table, examined the space, but remained detached from the conversation. Allison complained about having to rumor the delivery girl. Vanya, Diego, and Luther listened to her rant about how her powers shouldn’t be the ticket to everything and eventually it was going to get them into trouble she wouldn’t be able to rumor them out of and on and on and on. Diego and Vanya were the ones actually engaging her, but Luther was somewhere between their discussion and inside his own head.

Allison rumored the delivery girl anyway. As Five kept pointing out, what choice did they have at the moment? They would get money soon, he promised, but didn’t bother providing details on the how. Luther was sure it involved more stealing.

He helped Allison unpack the food, Vanya took Five his coffee, then came back to load up some plates. Diego was being a pain, going through the bags they hadn’t opened yet, making little comments about this dish or that. Klaus emerged from the other room, sweeping in and cooing over all the food. Luther took an entire container of orange chicken and sat down in one of the armchairs.

“Where’re you going, Five?”

Luther looked up to Vanya standing in the middle of the room holding two plates of chow mein. Then to Five, who looked a little like a deer in the headlights, like she’d caught him off guard. He had frozen two steps from the connecting door, looking at Vanya with something unreadable on his face.

Five pointed to the other room. “Shower,” he said as if it had been a stupid question.

Vanya frowned, Five watched her blankly.

“But the food just got here.” Allison’s tone betrayed the hurt she was probably feeling. After all that complaining about the delivery girl, and Five wasn’t even going to eat? Luther didn’t blame her for being a little miffed.

Five raised the coffee. “I got mine.”

“That’s not food, Five.” 

Five scowled, sighed, but then met her gaze with a challenge. “Shower first.” Something wavered in his tone, an undercurrent of an emotion that Luther couldn’t identify. 

Vanya crossed the remaining space between them and shoved a plate at their teleporter, smiling at him when he took it from her. Luther rolled his eyes and went back to his food. Stubborn old man.

He ate in silence, everyone else shuffled around the room to find their places. Luther only looked up again, along with everyone else, when Five’s plate landed on one of the tables with a  _ plop _ . The boy took one step towards the door then vanished in a ripple of light. His coffee hit the ground a second later, rushing out of the cup and across the carpet.

The rest of the room paused, staring at the space Five had been in, blinking in confusing.

“Why’d he leave?” Vanya broke the silence, sounding a little hurt.

“He left his coffee,” Diego said from his perch on the bed.

“I think he abandoned it,” Klaus corrected, waving a fork in the direction of the spill. “I told you, man, something’s up.” He stabbed another shrimp and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. Klaus didn’t have his usual brevity and it bothered Luther some. He knew it had to do with losing Ben a second time, but Luther hoped that Klaus would bounce back soon.

“What do you mean, ‘something’s up’?” Allison demanded, her food forgotten in her lap. Her and Diego exchanged a knowing look between them. “What’s going on?”

Diego shrugged and looked at Klaus, who also shrugged. “What’d he say in the bathroom?”

“Nothing, really. Told me to leave, threatened my life. You know, the usual.” Klaus explained between shrimps, not bothering to look at any of them while he spoke, focusing on kicking his food around with a fork. “Something about needing rubbing alcohol, but he looked okay.” He suddenly looked up, his face brightening with epiphany. “We should get booze!”

“Wait, wait, back up,” Vanya said from her seat. “I thought we all got patched up at Sissy’s farm before we left.” She looked at Diego. “Didn’t you check him?”

Diego’s face screwed up in irritation. “No, he said you did it.” Vanya shook her head.

“Great,” Allison cried, discarding her food on the table her and Luther sat at. She shook her head, exasperation written across her features. “He’s hiding his injuries again.”

_ Again? _ Luther stopped mid-chew, suddenly assaulted with the memory of Five, his face splattered in blood, staining his jacket, his collar, matted in his hair. He rolled the memory around in his head for a minute. They never asked him who’s blood that was. Five looked perfectly fine less than ten minutes later, so they assumed it wasn't his. Five was always fine… 

“We can’t expect him to stop being a loner over night,” Diego said thoughtfully, glancing between them. His eyes landed on Luther, pulling the spot light to him. “You spent four years on the moon, dude. You spent a year in Dallas, and I’ll bet my knife you struggled the whole time. All that loneliness, and with no relationships--”

“I thought you guys were  _ dead _ ,” he pointed out, cutting Diego off. “Of course I struggled.”

Allison reached out for him. Her hand on his arm was like sunshine after a blizzard. He tried to smile at her but by the concern on her face, he knew it wasn’t convincing.

“Right, but imagine we were  _ actually  _ dead and then you spent nearly fifty years on the moon right after finding out,” Diego said.

It wasn’t that Luther didn’t believe in Five’s extended stay in the end of times. He could see the dogged isolation clinging to his brother just as it clung to all of them, draped over each of his siblings a little differently. Believing him was different from understanding. 

His time on the moon had been grueling and miserable and even after the fact, it weighed on him. After spending so long with only yourself, you could forget how to act around other people, and the anxiety of doing the wrong thing was exhausting. The four years alone had already stretched him so thin, broken him down, and destroyed his sense of self; and then he had to rebuild it. He didn't want to imagine what decades would feel like. His chest ached at the mere idea. An entire lifetime. Five had spent more time alone than Luther had spent alive and that realization struck through him like a hot iron. Five had experienced the same thing Luther had, just on a different scale, in a different way. Luther's mind churned with empathy, remembering his own struggles with vivid clarity.

He put his food on the table, his appetite turning sour. He took Allison’s hand instead, keeping himself grounded.

“But we’re not asking him to do it overnight,” Allison said. “Dallas was crazy, we all saw new things, lived new lives. We had to grow up. So why didn’t Five? He barely even changed.”

“What?” Diego asked, his voice incredulous. “Uh, because it’s been two weeks since Dad’s funeral for him.” He said in a way that almost reminded Luther of Five, but with less edges and more Diego.

“Oh yeah,” Luther mumbled. Five had found them immediately after arriving, Luther remembered him talking about it a few times. Another detail lost in the madness that was their last week in Dallas.

Klaus was the first of the others to react. “Oh shit, so like back to back doomsdays?”

“Yes,” Diego hissed triumphantly. “Two doomsdays, two weeks, all the people that have been trying to kill us--”

“We haven’t exactly been helpful, either,” Luther sighed. He had straight up refused to help at one point, called Five on his daddy issues, threw him off a balcony, and then didn’t talk to him again until he came back covered in blood with a ninety minute deadline. If only his stupid decisions would stop coming back to bite him in the ass. 

“Right,” Diego went on. “You all haven’t been very helpful.”

“Okay, hey.” Allison wagged a finger at Diego. “I had other things, and I didn’t even know Five was around until Luther told me. I didn’t even see him until I had found both Luther  _ and _ Klaus.”

“He doesn’t trust us.” Vanya’s voice cut the room back into silence before an argument could brew. Everyone turned to look at her, slumped in her chair, her half-eaten food forgotten on a nearby table. “He won’t tell us about injuries, he doesn’t really tell us stuff at all.”

Something occurred to her. She sat up, her face paling in a way that wasn’t indicative of her powers. “Oh god, you guys. I screwed up. I just remembered. He told me about the apocalypse the night of Dad’s funeral.”

“What?” Luther asked, feeling blindsided. “He only told me after he got drunk and admitted it.”

Vanya winced, looking at Luther with an apology on her face. “I may have accidentally called him crazy.” She covered her face with her hands, muffling her words. “I suggested my therapist to him.” Her mortification was evident.

Klaus giggled. “He kind of is crazy. Could you actually imagine him going to a therapist?”

Luther couldn’t. The idea of Five going to a therapist and actually accepting the help he needed were two entirely incompatible ideas. It was more likely to result in some kind of massacre.

“So, what? He won’t talk to us because he’s afraid we think he’s crazy?” Allison asked. The way she said hinted at the reality that she did, in fact, think Five was off his rocker. In her defense, he was.

“He  _ is _ kind of a maniac,” Luther blurted out, painfully remembering the rough day he had had with two different and equally deranged versions of Five. Luther had been fooled at first, into thinking the physically older version had his shit together better, but that idea had been dashed from Luther’s mind the moment he got kicked in the gonads. He had decided right then and there that they were both loons and he was just there for the briefcase.

Their Five had managed to regain some of his cool since then, but Luther couldn’t help the invasive idea that he’d been getting squirrelier and squirrelier since he had shown up covered in blood.  _ And they never fucking asked him about it. _

If he had asked, would Five have answered? Would it have been the truth? Or another deflection, another lie, another tight lipped omission?

“Can we blame him?” Klaus said softly. He had finished the shrimp, the container laid on the floor in front of his chair. He had kicked his legs up and was sitting sideways across the armrests. “Being in this family is exhausting.” He lay his head back with a heavy sigh that was echoed across the room by everyone.

Luther frowned. It had taken him almost being killed by an enraged Vanya and then nearly a year of thinking his siblings were dead to get out from under the weight-of-the-world mentality their father had beaten into him. It wasn’t fair for Five to take up the mantle for him, just because he was older, or seemed to always have a plan. They were his family, Luther had just gotten them all back, and he wasn’t about to let one of them carry the burden alone for longer than he had to.

“We should do something,” Luther told the rest of them.

“Like what?” Allison asked, sounding skeptical despite herself.

“We could get him drunk again,” Diego said with a shrug.

“Yeah,” Luther responded genuinely. “That actually worked last time.”

“Underaged drinking? For shame, you two.” Klaus said from his chair. 

“Or we could just try talking to him?” Allison said incredulously.

She was met with a chorus of  _ I-don’t-think-so _ ’s and  _ that-won’t-work _ ’s from Klaus, Diego, and Luther. The one from Luther obviously surprised her the most. “Why not?”

“I think we should try it first.” Vanya said, supporting her sister. “Before trying to trick him.”

Diego talked over her to address Allison. “‘Why not’? In case you hadn’t noticed, he kind of tends to leave a bunch of the important shit out. That’s the whole reason we’re talking about this, remember?”

“Yeah but alcohol, Diego?”

Vanya made a good point, Luther figured. It hadn’t occurred to him to think of it as a trick, but he got the feeling that Five’s paranoia would catch on. He could see this backfiring on them, could see Five getting pissed off and doing something unpredictable. The idea of getting him drunk was a short cut at best.

“No, Vanya and Allison are right,” Luther said after a moment of consideration. “That would be tricking him. He can get pretty paranoid, so I don’t think we should give him a reason.” Luther refused to get roped into a conspiracy against one of their own, not after what he did to Vanya. If this did backfire, like the girls feared, it could end up hurting their connection to Five even worse. Considering he was their lifeline, Luther was not willing to risk that yet. No, if they were going to go behind Five’s back, it had better be for a damn good reason.

“Alright, fine,” Diego relented, realizing he was officially outnumbered. “We’ll try without the booze.”

Klaus made a disappointed noise from his seat but said nothing.

“Before we keep going, though.” Diego gestured to Klaus. “Go see if he’s still in the shower.”

“What?” Klaus cried. “Why do  _ I _ have to do it? I’ve already been threatened with literal hell today and now I’m full and don’t want to move.” It turned into a whine near the end, Klaus rubbing his bare belly, frowning dramatically.

“You don’t have to go in, just listen at the door and make sure he’s not going to come out yet.”

Klaus rolled his head back and forth for a second before climbing out of his chair with a drawn out, “Fiiiiiine.” He disappeared through the connecting door but was gone for only seconds. He popped his head back in. “Hey guys, he’s not even here.”

The room sighed, though no one was exactly surprised. 

“Okay, then here’s the plan,” Diego started after a beat. “We’ll each try--”

“Yay, I already did. I get to sit this one out!” Klaus cheered as he flopped back into his chair.

“Klaus, shut up. You still have to try,” Luther said. Their seance sighed but made no further objection.

Diego waited another beat for quiet before speaking again. “We need Five to talk to us. Going at him from all sides isn’t going to work. Going at him all at once isn’t going to work. None of that group therapy shit is gonna work on him.”

Luther caught on to Diego’s plan. Five would never stand for a family interrogation. “We go at him one at a time.” Of course. Five had only ever been open and honest willingly when it was just the two of them. One on one confrontations would be easier.

“Right,” Diego gestured to Luther. “One at a time. When he gets back, I’ll go first. I’ll let you guys know how it goes.”

“Why you?” Allison asked. “No offense, Diego, but I can only imagine you making it worse.”

Diego sputtered indignantly for a second. “I’m probably the best guy for it.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, Allison. I know the most, remember? I know all about the Commission, and while the rest of you were dicking around last week,  _ I _ was actually trying to help him.”

Allison scoffed. “A minute ago, you wanted to get him drunk.”

“And I’m  _ going _ with  _ your _ plan,” Diego bit out, trying to keep his temper.

“Stop you guys,” Vanya cut the conversation again. The girls exchanged a look but Allison relented.

“Fine. Diego will go first, and when that doesn’t work, I’ll go next.”

The conversation lulled and never picked back up. Allison picked at her food, Diego dumped his and Klaus’s empty containers into a trashcan. Luther finished his and debated on a shower. Vanya beat him to it, declaring her intentions and walking away.

“I still want booze,” Klaus moaned. He hadn’t moved yet.

After a minute, Allison agreed. “I  _ could _ go for a drink.”

“You know having it in the hotel will probably lead to Five drinking it,” Luther pointed out to her.

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t stop him from drinking, Luther. I know he’s an adult. I just don’t want to play games with him.”

That was fair, Luther supposed. He had no interest in playing, either.

Klaus jumped up. “Booze run! Maybe we’ll run into Fivey while you’re out there.”

Diego paused in cleaning one of his knives. “I’ll go.”

“Someone should stay here with Vanya.”

“I’ll do it!” Klaus volunteered, flopping down on the bed beside Diego. “I didn’t actually want to go, but I  _ really _ want a drink.”

“There’s a gas station down the street,” Diego supplied, ignoring Klaus. He slid his knife back into his belt and rose from the bed.

Luther stood when Allison did, not wanting to be left alone with Klaus and Vanya. Allison seemed pleased by his commitment to join them, and that was all Luther needed.

-

Luther was assigned lookout duty. The dismissive way in which Diego relegated the task to him made Luther feel a little bad that this was always Klaus’s job. It certainly made him feel like an afterthought. He knew he would have attracted attention anyway, being a discount version of Andre the Giant and all. That didn’t make it feel any better.

So Luther waited outside while Allison and Diego went into the gas station to get booze, first aid supplies, and some cheap t-shirts for them all to sleep in. There had been no sign of Five, but Luther wasn’t worried yet. It had only been an hour since he had blipped out of the room during dinner, and it wasn’t like Five couldn’t take care of himself. He disappeared for hours and sometimes days, and he did so surprisingly often for someone who had been around for a grand total of a fortnight. He always came back. Luther had no reason to worry.

He stared off across the street, lost in his thoughts. The argument he and Five had earlier surfaced again, unbidden. He’d been so angry, so torn up inside that they were  _ still  _ in deep shit. He just wanted to go home, whenever or wherever home was supposed to be, so he could build a life-- a  _ permanent _ life. Maybe even a life near the others, near Allison. Closer, at least, than the moon. Somewhere that wasn’t under the shadow of his father.

He wanted their crazy adventure to be over, for the world to be safe for once and to not have another impending doomsday chasing at their heels.

And Allison. Poor Allison. She lost her daughter, then her new husband. She was as lost and out of place as the rest of them, but she kept having to leave people behind. At least Diego knew that Lila was still out there in the spacetime continuum. He was allowed reasonable hope for his crazy lover to return. Allison had none of that.

There was a deep part of Luther, a part of himself he hated and repressed and tried so hard to ignore. It rejoiced at Allison’s isolation in a sickening way that he wanted so desperately to blame on his father. Luther wanted Allison to be his, and the more people she lost, the more likely that would be. The thought twisted inside of him. He wanted to be there for her, not be some creep that was deeply, silently grateful that she had to leave another husband behind. 

Allison came out of the store a moment later, so Luther stuffed his horrible thoughts back into the box they belonged in. He smiled at her as she handed him a small wad of five and ten dollar bills. “I didn’t want to ask for too much, but this will get us breakfast tomorrow.” Everything else she ‘bought’ was in a bag hanging off her arm. Luther could see packages of bandages amidst plain white t-shirts and various bottles of alcohol. 

She looked tired, more than she had in the hotel. Now that it was just the two of them, Luther could get a good look. She had been crying. Luther knew she would be, over Claire and Ray. It still stung him to see the evidence of it. He wanted to hug her.

“Where’s Diego?” he asked instead.

She looked up at him, the ghost of irritation on her face. “We found Five. He was sitting in one of the aisles, writing on the floor.”

Luther snorted. “He does that sometimes.” He had never bothered to figure out what that meant for Five. “Diego’s taking his turn?”

She nodded. “We’ll see how it goes. I doubt it will--”

She was cut off by the distinctly familiar sound of Five’s teleport coming from somewhere around the corner of the building behind Luther. They shared a knowing look. It obviously hadn’t worked out in Diego’s favor then. Allison smiled dryly and moved around him to follow the sound. Luther hesitated to follow, torn between waiting for Diego and wanting to follow Allison.

“Luther!” Allison’s voice cut the air and all hesitation flooded from him.

He skidded around the corner, freezing. Five was on the ground, sprawled out on his back. Allison was trying to rouse him, calling his name and shaking his shoulders lightly. He wasn’t responding much by the time Luther got to them.

Allison glanced up at him, looking lost. It echoed inside Luther, draining him. He wanted to lay down too but now was not the time. He scooped Five up in his arms instead, ignoring how the boy hissed in pain and squirmed weakly against him.

Five gave a violent jerk of his body, pushing against Luther and trying to curl into him simultaneously. Luther had to readjust his grip or risk dropping him. The move jostled Five a little harder than he meant to.

It ripped a cry from him, both hands racing to his head, curling in his hair like he was trying to keep his skull from splitting. Something dark ran from his nose, but Luther didn’t have enough hands to confirm his suspicions.

Allison climbed to her feet quickly and made herself useful. She gently pulled at Five’s arms, trying to uncover his face but he struggled away from her. Not that he had anywhere to go. Luther had a good hold on him now, no more jostling required. It took a little fighting but she succeeded shortly.

“His nose is bleeding,” she said matter-of-factly. She cupped Five’s face with both hands, trying to gentle his struggles. 

Five’s hands clawed the air over his chest, having lost their battle with Allison. One hand found the collar of Luther’s shirt, twisting the fabric almost frantically, the other reached blindly for Allison but was clumsy and she easily swatted it away.

“Five.” Allison’s voice was gentle and quiet, her face close to Five’s so she could whisper. “Five, can you hear me? Where does it hurt?” She threaded her fingers through his mop of hair, pushing his bangs back, trying to get a good look at him even as he squirmed and struggled and tried to twist away from her.

Five made no indication that he had heard her at all. His whole body jerked again, the hand in Luther’s collar pushed hard. He wanted to get away, Luther realized. Five may have even been  _ scared  _ at that point, but lost in the throws of whatever was causing him so much pain. Luther would never know.

“We need to take him back to the hotel,” Luther said.

“We  _ need _ to take him to a hospital.” Allison turned away from him, taking a few paces toward the gas pumps, then seemed to think better of it. She hesitated, the fear on her face when she looked back at him struck Luther through.

Five made a noise in his arms, somewhere between a whine and groan. He jerked again but this one had less than half the force of the previous two. He tried to curl himself tighter, the hand in Luther’s collar twisted again and pulled instead of pushed.

“It’s okay, Five. We’ve got you.” He didn’t know what else to say. The boy trembled, shaken, and in pain and Luther had no idea why or what he could do to help. So he talked. “It’s okay. You can relax, we’ve got you.”

Five shuddered, another whine escaping him, but the pain written on his face was starting to loosen. His eyes fluttered open but Luther knew Five wasn’t seeing him. The boy gave a shaken sigh, his body losing all the tension it had been carrying like a drawn bow. Five slumped against him, fully becoming dead weight in his arm.

Allison was there in the next second, swiping his bangs back and checking his face again. She was a picture of concern and Luther wondered if she ever looked at Claire like that. He wondered if she would ever look at  _ him _ like that.

“Yo!” Diego called from a few yards away.

Luther turned, Five slumped in his arms, toward his other brother. He received the spectacular view of Diego’s previous expression melting into downright terror.

“Oh shit!” Diego crossed the remaining space between them in less than a second, wasting no time in ripping open Five’s bloody shirt. With the boy no longer able to fight any of them, Luther supposed now was the best time.

All three of them stopped. “Fuck me,” Diego breathed.

Allison covered her mouth, a tsunami of emotion brimming in her eyes. She had no words, but Luther could feel her rage and horror echo inside him.

Luther looked for only a second, that was all he needed. Five’s chest and stomach were a sick painting of red, purple, and yellow. Great splotches of bruising blooming out from central points almost like…

“They look like gunshots wounds, but without the bullets.” Diego didn’t understand it either, gentle fingers ghosting over the bruised skin without making contact. He shook his head, managing to look more lost than Allison. “He doesn’t wear body armor, does he? That’s the only other place I’ve seen bruises like this.”

Luther could only shake his head, disgust curling tight around his chest and making him feel sick. He had only ever seen Five wear that damn academy uniform. How the hell he had gotten injuries like that, Luther had no idea. He couldn’t protect his brother, Five would never want it anyway. It didn’t make the guilt curling in his stomach any less sour.

“At least he’s not bleeding this time,” Diego said, his voice small despite his attempt at lightening the mood.

Allison smacked his shoulder, but her glare was halfhearted. “We need to take him to the hospital,” she repeated.

Diego disapproved with a sound. “We should take him back to the hotel. I’ll admit, this is nasty, but it’s not life threatening. We’ll need to ice it, but no hospital required.”

“Diego," Allison snapped, her patience thinned by worry. "We should have a real doctor look at him.”

Diego rounded on her, his fear and anger snarling across his face. “And tell them what? A thirteen year old kid with bruises like this? CPS will scoop his ass up when we aren’t looking and we won’t see him again.”

“Until he breaks himself out and comes back,” Luther said.

“Right, until he breaks himself out. We don’t know what that will look like, but we can avoid all that by just going back to the hotel.”

Allison looked like she had more points to argue. She met Luther’s gaze and he shook his head at her. He agreed with Diego on this one. Five’s appearance was too vulnerable. Taking him to a hospital would have done more for Luther’s peace of mind, but he knew it was too risky.

Five was still limp in his arms as Diego gathered a scatter of items Luther hadn’t noticed before. Bread, an open bag of marshmallows, peanut butter, a newspaper, and rubbing alcohol. Five’s apparent shopping list. Luther had no comment for it as Diego stuffed them in Allison’s discarded bag. Allison rebuttoned Five’s shirt, fussing over him while Diego finished gathering their shoplifting.

“You know he’ll be okay,” Luther said, trying to find the right words. “He’s Five, he’ll bounce back.” Luther certainly hoped so.

“Yeah, he’s a tough bastard,” Diego started off across the gas station.

Allison smiled up at him but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s just get him ho-- to the hotel.” She turned away and followed after Diego.

The boy weighed nothing in Luther’s arms as he followed his siblings across the street and down the block toward their hotel. Five was dwarfed against his chest, looking gangly and fragile. His face slack in sleep was almost sweet and struck a chord of nostalgia in Luther. It wasn’t often he saw Five relaxed. Maybe once as adults, but many times as kids. Five had been closer with Vanya and Ben, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t had good times. Luther missed seeing his brother relaxed, and not because he was drunk or had passed out.

He missed the good times, the early days before things changed. Before Five vanished and Ben died and Luther didn’t have to work so hard to keep his faith. He wished he hadn’t spent so long clinging to the idea that his father was a good man, or that he cared.

Luther was dragged from his thoughts suddenly. Five jumped awake, jerked in his arms, gasping. Luther had to readjust his grip again, the boy starting to slip. Luther wasn’t sure if the motion hurt Five, or started him. Either way, he reacted violently, twisting his entire body away from Luther.

“Okay, stop-- Five!” Luther tried to keep him from tumbling to the ground, but Five was not cooperating. The boy couldn’t get an angle for a good punch, but he had good aim for someone who was probably disoriented. His fist connected with Luther’s nose, stunning him. Luther staggered, and when Five twisted again, there was no hope of keeping him.

Five almost stuck the landing, falling on his knees as Luther staggered back, holding his face. His nose wasn’t broken, but it still hurt like a bitch.

“Jesus, Five!” Diego dropped the bag and jumped to Five’s side. “It’s us, dude.”

Five’s head shot up, blinking in surprise at all of them, like he was half expecting someone else. He sighed, his shoulders dropping their hunch. “Shit,” was all he said. He looked dazed, cradling his head with his hands.

Luther recovered from Five’s sideways suckerpunch and decided to give his smallest brother a chance to breathe. Luther didn't want to get punched again. Once was enough, thank you.

“You good?” Diego asked Five.

“Fine,” the boy said, muffled by his hands. “Tired.”

“What’s going on?”

“Tired.” Five repeated with a little more force.

“That all?”

“Shut up, you idiot. I’m tired and I teleported too much.” He finally lifted his head to glare at Diego. “Blinking with all five of you is harder than you can imagine.”

“Well, stop teleporting then,” Luther said helpfully.

Five directed his glare at him but before he could retort with something smartassed, Luther pointed at his own nose. Five squinted at him in confusion, touched his face, and seemed surprised when his fingers came away bloody. He scoffed a second later, pulling a handkerchief out of his shorts pocket and cleaning his face.

“And what is that about?” Allison asked.

“It’s nothing,” Five said with a heavy sigh. “I-- we’ve been-- it’s been a long week.” He wasn’t looking at them, instead examining the bloody cloth in his hand with extreme interest.

Luther frowned. “Do we need to be worried?”

Something in the way Luther said it must have irritated the boy. His shoulders hunched again and he renewed his glare in Luther’s direction. “Yes, Luther, there’s a lot for you to be worried about,” he growled. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not in the correct timeline, anymore.”

“Well, yeah. I knew that,” Luther said lamely. “I mean about you. Should we be worried about  _ you? _ ”

Five stared at him, still glaring, his eyes twitching. “I’m fine, Luther,” he said, his voice growing quiet. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, buddy, but we don’t really believe that.” Luther gestured back toward the gas station. “I just carried you half a block. You popped out of the store and passed out.”

Five’s glare finally faltered, his facade breaking a little. “Alright, it doesn’t look good,” he admitted, giving them all a wary glance. “I need sleep. I'll be fine.” Despite it being the same thing he kept repeating, this time Luther almost believed him. The exhaustion in Five’s voice was clear and unmistakable. 

“Then we should get you to bed,” Allison said.

“I can carry you the rest of the way,” Luther offered.

“No,” Five snapped. “I can walk.” He didn’t move at first, looking down at his legs, frowning. Then he reached up to Luther, refusing to look at him. “Help me up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I'm sorry, were you expecting plot to happen in this chapter? Too bad, you just get more set up. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five forgets how conversations work. The sibs start to put things together. Allison has no patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to break the POV consistency. I have no excuse, and I regret nothing.

There was a hole in the world, a tear in the earth. An open maw, hungry and dark and wanting. The ground beneath him crumbled and swayed, sinking in slow motion, covering his boots in dust.

He didn't know how he got there, or where he came from. He didn't know how he found this chasm, gaping with teeth of twisted rebar and jagged broken concrete. He didn't understand why the ground whispered death and silence and screamed in incomprensible pain. 

The void gurgled and churned and reached out with scarlet knives that cut deep. Rivers wept from scars in the earth, a thousand glass eyes stared back at him. Their gaze reached for him, begging him to fall, but he was unafraid. He had already seen the bottom, already drowned in the sharp edges and had it filled with rage and ichor to be used over and over again.

The chasm was inside him. The ground was his flesh. He swallowed and tasted only blood and ash. 

Darkness reached him instead, gentle shadows that meant him no harm and didn’t seek to confront him with any truths. He had the sensation of rising, or perhaps falling, but it was peaceful here and he couldn’t find a reasonable excuse to care.

Time had no meaning for once, but he knew it wasn’t long before reality shoved its way back in. His instincts cried about a perfectly good reason to care. Passing out was bad, he was not in a secure location, he needed to  _ wake up _ !

Five snapped back to himself, his brain and body realigning in a single jagged second. He inhaled sharply, the pain in his body slammed down into him. The world jolted-- no,  _ he _ was jolted. Thick arms gripped a little tighter, shifting under his shoulders and knees. Arms strong enough to snap Five like a twig, and he only needed the easy way with which he was being carried to tell him that. The very idea that he was being carried at all burst an explosion of butterflies in his stomach. His heart leapt, chest tight.

Nope, not okay. This was not okay.

Five twisted, not caring to find out the whos and whats. Those were questions for when he wasn’t being  _ touched _ . And yeah, usually he could shove that impulse down into the neat little box where he kept most of his reactions, but it was hard to shove it down when it was already exploding across his skin.

The giant (who a distant part of him almost recognized) yelled, might have said his name but Five wasn’t listening. Five was escaping and he would listen when his heart wasn’t hammering like it wanted to leap out of his chest. Muscles wrapped tight, pushing him against a solid wall that was probably someone’s chest. Five ached, he didn’t think he had a teleport in him, but that didn’t mean he was out of ideas. 

Aim for the soft spots. He didn’t really bother looking but he knew where he was going to find someone’s nose. His fist connected, the man holding him staggered. Five twisted again, his body screaming at him. He grit his teeth and dropped a long way rather gracelessly to his knees. Pain be damned, that last twist had freed him and that made it all worth it.

“It’s us, dude.” Too close,  _ danger _ , he needed to--

Wait. 

Five knew that voice. He snapped his head up, eyes focusing against the bleeding light. Diego’s face swam and solidified before him. Everything else followed. The dusky sky, the green grass, the cars on the street, the roughness of the pavement against his knees. Allison stared at him like she was expecting him to fall over. She looked like she was half a step from smothering him. Luther was still cradling his nose where Five had punched him (whoops). He was recovering from a distance. 

Diego was watching his every move, deep brown eyes flicking down to Five’s hands, following the line of his shoulders, examining, judging, scrutinizing. For a terrifying second, Five wondered what Diego saw. Did he see the scars on Five’s skin that he had lost but couldn’t forget? Did he see a man, a monster, or a child playing pretend? Did he see a member of his family, or an aberration? Did he see something he could-- 

...tolerate?

No, he needed to brush it aside. (Why was it getting so hard?) It didn’t matter what they saw. He needed to calm down, he wasn’t in danger. There was no reason for his heart to beat at an off-rhythm filled with frantic leaps and trips. He forced his shoulders to relax, pushed the stubborn breath out of his lungs.

“Shit,” was about all he could manage.

Five needed a break. The sunlight was too bright and his skin felt raw. His head pounded and it felt like his brain had been sucked out through a straw then spat back in his skull. The sharp clarity of only a second ago rushed out, or perhaps a fog had rushed in. Five couldn’t tell and he was quickly losing his ability to care.

He felt hot but his insides felt cold and he wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall to his hands. The dream had faded quickly from his mind but the watching eyes still stared from the inside of his eyelids, tasting feverish.

It was an odd combination of sensations and it wasn’t something Five had experienced in a while. He was usually so much better at keeping all this contained. The void was leaking more than scars now. It was starting to leak the crazy too. Five had no idea how to stop it and he wanted to laugh because he knew he couldn’t cry.

Diego’s voice was far too close but Five wasn’t exactly in a position to get away. “You good?”

What a question. What was ‘good’? Was it the way he felt like he’d been flayed open, beaten to a pulp, and sewn back up again? Maybe the way his head throbbed and everything was taking too long to register. Five was about three hundred miles from  _ good _ . He was, if anything, barely hanging on. But it wasn’t like they could help him.

“Fine,” muffled by his hands. He was sure they heard him. Maybe he should say more, that probably wasn’t enough. Most people liked complete answers. “Tired.” Good enough, they could infer the rest.

“What’s going on?”

Apparently they  _ couldn’t _ . Idiots, wasn’t it obvious? He’d run himself thin and now the broken edges were starting to peak out. No, no stop-- he needed to stop the weird abstract metaphors before they became words. They weren’t helping, even if he had no other way to describe the disjointed feeling in his body.

“Tired,” he said again, hoping against reason they would get it this time. He did not have the energy to pick himself through a real conversation. His thoughts were too loud, his voice was too quiet, and the rushing in his head was deafening.

“That all?” Diego’s tone was insufferable, like he was speaking to a child. He didn’t believe, or he wasn’t going to accept what Five had already told him.

“Shut up, idiot.” This was annoying. How many times did he have to repeat it? What more did Diego want him to say? He’d been running around like a madman ( _ you  _ **_are_ ** _ a madman _ ), trying to stop the apocalypse, trying to keep them alive again and again. Five had accounted for every dumb decison his siblings had made. He had maneuvered and manipulated and sacrificed and  _ killed _ for them. And he would do it all again, but damn if he wasn’t tired.

And it was never enough, never going to be enough. There was always one more plan, one more task, one more job. One more teleport. Well, Five had run fresh out of those.

They were still staring at him, so obviously he had to use simpler language. "I'm tired and I teleported too much. Blinking with all five of you is harder than you can imagine.” It really was. Space did not  _ like _ being ripped open and slipped through. It rebelled against him every time but Five had learned long ago just the right threads to pull on. That didn’t make it easy; Five had to make a tear big enough to lift his family out and get them all on the other side without leaving any feet, hands or other important body parts behind. 

“Well, stop teleporting then."

_ Really _ , Luther? Because Five hadn’t thought of  _ that _ before. He stared at Luther, utterly blown away by the breathtaking lack of intelligence. He honestly had nothing else to say, nothing to retort, mostly because he wasn’t sure he wanted to dignify that with anything more than perhaps a glare.

Luther pointed at his own face. It took a few seconds for the reason to catch up to Five, what the gesture was supposed to mean. Five touched his face, finding his fingers came away slick and red.

Oh.

Oh yeah, that. He should have felt it before Luther pointed it out. He cleaned his face with the handkerchief from his pocket. It should have stopped by now, but he knew it was getting worse with every teleport he executed. The price of being beyond his limits. 

“And what is that about?” Allison asked.

Hadn’t she been listening? He was tired. This nose bleed was a consequence of pushing himself too far. Of all the things she should be worrying about, this was-- “It’s nothing,” he sighed, finding this whole thing exhausting. Maybe he should give her more than that. “I--”  _ killed a lot of people, made some bad choices, not everything panned out in my favor. _ “We’ve been--”  _ scattered across time, chased down, shot at, and by some miracle we’re all still alive. _ “It’s been a long week.” Such a long long week that it might have been two, and Five had lost so much during it. He had almost lost them.

Something about the pattern of blood spots and smears on the white cloth drew Five’s eyes. It was easier than looking at his family and seeing the blood on them instead. Seeing them laying motionless amongst the bloodied hay. What was on the handkerchief was at least familiar, was at least his own. It was fine if he got hurt or pushed beyond his limits, as long as they were okay. Nothing else mattered.

“Do we need to be worried?”

No, not about him, but certainly for the  _ thousands  _ of other things that could come to kill them at any time. Five glared up at Luther (who was not bloody or dead), how could he be so dense? Did he even pay attention? “Yes, Luther, there’s a lot for you to be worried about.” Like his own death, just to name one. But to name another, “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not in the correct timeline anymore.” Honestly, that alone covered a lot of what Luther should be worried about.

“Well, yeah. I knew that,” Luther said lamely. “I mean about you. Should we be worried about  _ you _ ?”

Something in Five’s chest flipped over, burning and screaming in restless frustration. What did Five literally just say? He could have sworn he just said not to worry about him, what was so hard about this for them?  _ He. Was. Tired. _ That’s it, that was all, nothing else. Yeah, he ached, and the nosebleed was probably a little scary, but he was  _ fine _ . How many times did he have to repeat it? “I’m fine, Luther.” As many times as it took.

Five didn’t like the way Luther looked at him. He couldn’t quite parse the meaning, but it was probably pity. It poked at the burning frustration in his chest and that made it harder to bury. Everything was too close and Five was losing his grip. He wanted this conversation to end. He needed to find the right thing to say, and not get it mixed with his thoughts.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, buddy.”

Buddy. ( _ “I’m sorry, buddy,” and Five’s insides screamed betrayal, bloody fucking goddamn betrayal-- but then it wasn’t betrayal and they were fine, because Luther wouldn’t hurt him. _ ) Luther was on his side, and that’s what ‘buddy’ was supposed to mean. It also meant Luther was talking down at him, but that was probably beside the point.

“I just carried you half a block. You popped out of the store and passed out.”

Yeah, okay. He had done that, then Luther had carried him. And Five had punched him for the trouble (whoops, again). Five had no retort to that, and his mind had ground to a halt on ‘buddy’, so he was doubly unprepared. Control slipped through his fingers like sand. “Alright, it doesn’t look good.” 

Maybe telling them he was fine in the present was a bit inaccurate. Perhaps they didn’t need a result, but a status report of the current state of things. Which was to say, probably not okay  _ right that second _ . There was an easy remedy so it was pointless for them to fret. He would be back to his…  _ normalish _ self soon, then he would get them home. “I need sleep. I’ll be fine.” The act of admitting it took more from him than he expected. He knew he sounded how he felt and there was no way to reign himself back in. He hoped they could have some patience with him. God knew he had it for them.

That seemed to be what they were waiting to hear. The metaphorical key to get out of this incredibly invasive situation. There was a collective release of tension between them that Five picked up on, and it was just in time. He didn’t know how much more of this he could stand. He wanted a moment to collect himself, a shower, a sandwich, and a dark safe corner to curl up in and fall asleep.

“Then we should get you to bed,” Allison said.

No shit. Five could have told her that.

“I can carry you the rest of the way,” Luther offered.

And fuck that idea in particular. “No,” he snapped. “I can walk.”

At least, he thought he could walk. As it turned out, his body was still disobeying him. The logistics of getting to his feet seemed daunting all of a sudden. Like hell was he going to let Luther carry him, but they were all watching him expectantly so he needed to do something.

Five reached up for Luther, but couldn’t bring himself to look at him. It wasn’t the shame of needing the help, although that was part of it. It was more the pity in his eyes when he looked at Five. He didn’t need their pity, certainly didn’t deserve it, didn’t know what to do with it. He just needed a hand, preferably without all of Luther’s… softness. “Help me up.”

Luther’s hand grasped his up to the wrist and boy, Five’s reactions were all over the place. He flinched, felt it jolt his own body. His skin crawled up his arm, across his shoulders, and down his spine. He grit his teeth against the churning of his guts and forced himself to breathe.

Luther was waiting, he hadn’t moved, but his grip had loosened like he was afraid he had hurt Five. Another breath, and Five shook the paralysis off. He could feel them all watching him and his self control was slipping faster than his sanity had during the first winter. Draining away by the seconds, and this was already deeply humiliating.

He gave Luther’s arm an experimental tug and wasn’t expecting his brother to respond by pulling him up like he was a fish being yanked from the water. He tried to keep his grip on reality but his mind drained out a hole in the back of his head. Darkness rushed in to swallow him.

-

Luther pulled Five up and he definitely did it too quickly. The boy’s knees buckled and his whole weight draped across Luther’s arm. He made the softest noise, a breathy exhale that somehow told Luther he was unconscious again.

Luther crouched, Five fell against his shoulder, his whole body going slack against him.

“That didn’t last long,” Diego remarked.

Luther snorted, trying to ignore the way his stomach twisted with unease. Five was weaker than he had ever seen him, even as kids. One arm wrapped around the boy’s shoulders, the other hooking under his knees again. Five weighed nothing, Luther didn’t even feel an ounce of strain getting him off the ground.

Allison was close, Diego watched from a distance. Luther adjusted the arm under Five shoulders, frowning down at him. The boy shivered against him, the ghost of pain still clinging to his face.

Allison stepped over, her palm came to rest across Five’s forehead, her face knitting into a harsh frown. She tapped his cheek, brushed his bangs away, fretting. Her gentle fingers felt for his heart beat, carefully of a still-healing scratch on his neck.

She clicked her tongue and looked at Diego, Luther’s gaze followed. Diego stared back at them, then came closer to do his own temperature check of their teleporter. He said nothing, paused to count the boy’s pulse, then pulled away. “We shouldn’t stay out here, we need to get him inside.”

They walked a few paces but they could both feel Allison getting ready to say something. “There’s a lot I don’t know,” she started. “Diego, you said you were helping him last week.” She kicked up her pace to catched up to Diego, Luther trailed behind with the comatose teenager in his arms. “Help me piece this all together. How did this happen?” Her tone was gentle, imploring, lost. “Start from the beginning.”

Diego sighed, no one was immune to Allison’s charms, and when she got that tone in her voice, she didn’t need a rumor to bend her brothers to her will. Even Diego.

“He showed up on the 15th, found me in the-- hospital.”

“You were in a hospital?”

“It was an insane asylum,” Luther supplied from the back of the group.

“He found me the day he said he landed,” Diego said before Allison could comment.

“He also found me on the 15th,” Luther said. “Told me about the new apocalypse and I told him I wouldn’t help.”

Diego looked back at him from over his shoulder. “Why not?”

Luther shrugged, unable to meet his eyes. He looked down at the boy in his arms again, considering the faint grimace still on Five’s face. “Wasn’t thinking,” he finally answered. “Didn’t think he would really need me after how I screwed up last time.”

Allison passed him a sympathetic look and Luther couldn’t find it in himself to look at that either. He kept walking.

“Anyway,” Diego said. “I broke out the night of the 15th, he found me the next day, and showed me where he was hiding.”

“The TV store,” Allison said.

Diego nodded. “Elliot’s TV store. He had some tape from the day of the JFK assassination, before it happened. Dad was on it.”

“Wait, he had a tape from the 22nd, on the 15th?” Allison asked.

“Yeah. Said Hazel gave it to him.”

“Who?”

“One of the masked men who attacked us that night in the academy during the first apocalypse week.”

Allison made a noise, looking baffled. “The people trying to kill him?”

“It’s complicated,” Diego replied. “I guess Hazel wasn’t such a bad guy. I never really--  _ talked _ to him.” There was more to that, but Luther had a feeling it had something to do with Diego’s cop friend, so he didn’t ask.

“Okay, so crazy masked man who was trying to kill him came back, gave him a tape of the JFK assassination seven days before it happens, and  _ Dad _ was on it?” Allison clarified, and Luther was happy she was here because it was a lot and he realized he hadn’t put everything together. Allison was far more out of the loop than he was, but he wasn’t exactly in it either.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Diego said. “We looked for Dad, I got shanked. The next morning he had found Vanya--”

“Then Vanya came to me, and I guess he didn’t tell her she caused the first apocalypse, so I did and that--”

“Luther!” Allison looked back at him flabbergasted. “You told an amnesiac Vanya that she destroyed the world?”

Luther gaped at her, realizing that had also probably been a bad decision. “It’s not fair that Five didn’t tell her at all.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Diego cut in. He was right, they could argue about that until they were blue in the face, but it would be pointless.

Five shifted in Luther’s arms, discomfort flickering across his face. Luther carefully readjusted his hold, bringing him a little closer in case he tried to fight back again. Five’s head settled on Luther’s shoulder, his breathing evened out. He was still unconscious, but never for very long.

“We went to find Dad that night at a gala at the Mexican consulate. The Swedes found us, he uh, got wailed on a little.”

“A little?” Allison’s eyebrows threatened to recede into her hairline.

“A lot. Look, we both got our shit kicked in, okay. I fought off two--”

“That was the 16th? The 17th?” Allison cut him off.

“Yeah, the 17th,” he grumbled.

“So then what? He showed up at my house the next morning out of the blue. We had that family meeting, Luther stormed out...” Allison glanced between them.

“He popped somewhere else when I threw him off the stairs.”

Diego snorted at the memory, but then glanced guilty back at the unconscious boy. “I didn’t see him again after that.”

“He never came back in,” Allison said. “Vanya, Klaus, and I left to get drunk and talk about our love lives.”

“I went with Luther. He pigged out, bummed around. Five wasn’t at Elliot’s when we got back. We were preoccupied with Dad’s invitation, and Vanya was there too.”

“So none of us knows where he went,” Luther said.

“That happens all the time, I’m not his babysitter,” Diego snapped. “He was there when he went to meet Dad. That was the first time I saw him since Luther tossed him.”

The three of them exchanged a look that told them that was the same for all of them.

“So he disappeared for a day, and none of us know why or where,” Allison said.

“He wasn’t expecting us to show up for supper either,” Diego said.

“He and Dad talked after, while the rest of us left,” Allison continued. “When did you see him again after that?”

“I went back to Elliot’s apartment with Diego,” Luther answered.

“The next morning, he showed up with that deadline--”

“Covered in blood,” Luther finished. “He’s been acting weirder since then, and we never checked that he was okay. Who do you think he was fighting?”

Diego was quiet for a beat. “He was assassinating the Commission Board of Directors.”

Allison’s brow knit in confusion. She stared at Diego for another long second. “What?”

“You know, the Commission.”

“I know what-- Why would he be…?”

“I think he made a deal with the devil to get us home. The devil tried to make him the fall guy.”

“The devil?”

“The Handler, Lila’s mother-- well the woman who raised her.” Diego scoffed. “You think Five’s crazy, this woman is on a whole other level. Well,  _ was _ . She’s dead now.”

“Wait, so Five made a deal with a crazy lady,” Luther said.

“Yeah, to kill the leaders of the Commission, to get us home.”

“That’s where he got that briefcase.”

“The bitch probably set the time limit, too. I got-- uh, picked up before I could make it back.”

Allison was silent for several paces, her face etched with depthless bewilderment. “He’s an assassin.” It wasn’t a question, but she didn’t seem sure.

“You didn’t know?” Luther asked, surprised.

She shook her head. “I didn’t think-- I  _ knew, _ I just didn't... I don’t think I really  _ know _ anything about him. Which is weird that he knows so much about me-- about all of us. He knew about Claire.” Her voice changed, grew small and sad. “How could he know about Claire?”

Luther shrugged, careful not to jostle the boy. “Maybe he found records on us in the apocalypse. I saw him carrying around an old copy of Vanya’s book once.”

Allison shook her head. “He found records-- what? That doesn’t-- what do you mean he found records?”

“I’m sure if he could find books, other things still survived.”

“How long did he--” she suddenly turned on Diego, an epiphany mixed with horror on her face. “You said fifty years.”

“Forty-five, actually,” Luther said.

“He spent that long in the apocalypse?” She was horrified, looking at their smallest brother with new eyes.

“Yeah,” Diego said, his voice much quieter. “He says he spent it alone.”

“Then got picked up by the Commission and turned into a hitman,” Luther finished.

She gaped, confusion, anger, and horror waged war on her face for a moment. 

“Allison?” Luther asked, cautiously.

“I--” she shook her head, words lost. “I don’t-- I always thought… No wonder he’s such a prick. He had no socialization from thirteen onwards.”

Diego snorted. “What do you think his mannequin girlfriend was all about?”

Allison scoffed. “I just thought he was crazy.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s that, too.” Luther said with a dry smile.

“Shh-- shit.” Further conversation was cut off by the mumbled curse from Five. 

Luther glanced down, watching him for signs of the fight response that Five had jumped awake with last time. The boy shifted in his arms, straining against whatever lethargy was weighing on him. Luther could feel him struggle, lifting his arms in clumsy, uncoordinated movements. He wrapped one of his arms around Luther’s shoulder, trying to anchor himself. It was better than him suddenly thrashing like last time.

“You’re not going to punch me again, are you?”

Five’s eyes fluttered open, they narrowed in on Luther’s face. His glare was half hearted at best, but Luther still took it as a good thing. It was familiar to him.

“Fuck off, Luther.”

Honestly, so was that. Luther laughed, half in relief that at least Five was still enough himself to be prickly, and half at the sheer petulance in his voice.

The faintest smile graced the boy’s face at Luther’s chuckle. His eyes slipped closed again, the little tension he had gathering in his shoulders went lax. Luther watched him drop back out, and felt like this one was more on purpose.

“He good?” Diego asked.

“Yeah.” They were almost to the stairs, the long parking lot behind them had been blessedly empty of people. No one to stare at them carrying an unconscious teenager in a bloody shirt.

Allison was watching Five, a mix of emotions knitting her brow and pursing her lips. “We’re going to have to come up with our next step.”

Diego glanced back at them. “We need supplies,” he agreed.

“Clothes, food that isn’t delivery, money.” Allison said. “More than that, we need to figure out what else is different in this timeline.”

“Recon would be good.”

“We have to be careful, timetravel’s a fickle bitch,” Diego said.

Allison rolled her eyes. “Luther’s right, we need to do recon. We can't rely on Five for everything, and he's going to need to rest. We’ll get supplies while we’re out.”

“Shopping trip.” Diego paused on the first stair for them to catch up.

Luther shouldered by both and went up first. “We can talk about this tomorrow morning, I don’t think now is a good time to plan.” They were all exhausted, and Luther quietly hoped Five would at least be awake to add his input before they went traipsing all over this new timeline.

Luther was halfway up when Five moved again. His head popped off Luther’s shoulder and he gave a quick look around them.

“Hey,” Luther said softly.

Five looked up at him, blinked, his face a blank mask. He had obviously recovered some. “Hello, Luther.”

“We’re almost back.”

“Good,” was all he said. He dragged the hand around Luther’s shoulder back, curling both arms over his stomach. He shivered ever so slightly, then seemed to clamp down on it. “‘S cold?”

It was a bit chillier in the stairwell, cloaked in shadow, and now with the sun pushing behind the buildings. Winter may have been over, but ice still clung to the night, and chased the sunset with a chill. Luther hadn’t noticed it until Five did.

“A little, yeah.”

Five didn’t answer, but he was still awake, his eyes trained above them to the top landing. He was quiet until they got up there. Luther paused for the other two, and Five took that as his stop to get off. He pushed against Luther, gentle but insistent.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I can walk from here. The stairs…” he trailed off, giving the stairs a short glare like they had offended him.

“The last time you said that, you fainted again.”

“Fainted.” Five repeated, the blank mask flickering with discomfort. Then the glare was back. “You pulled me up too fast, you moron.”

“Well, maybe I did it to make a point.”

“You’re not smart enough for that,” Five deadpanned. Diego snorted, drawing Five’s attention. “Oh, good. You’re still here,” he said balefully.

Allison stepped in to block Five’s line of sight, he looked at her with an expectant eyebrow raised. “Yes?”

“Five, I need you to be honest with us.”

Five didn’t react except for a twitch in his eyes. Luther knew this was about to go sideways.

“Where did you get those bruises?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” barely contained venom, dripping sarcasm. Five threw up his walls like the huns were attacking. “Maybe it was when I had dinner with the Swedes.”

"I’m serious.”

“That's nice.”

Allison glared, and in a quick movement that Five had no way of escaping while trapped in Luther’s arms, she put pressure on his breastbone. It was light pressure and she quickly retreated, but Five’s reaction was immediately. The boy grunted, inhaling sharply against the pain. He jerked in Luther’s arms, hands patting across his own chest and stomach, frantically searching himself.

He screwed his eyes shut, let out the breath he was holding, then leveled Allison with a new glare. "What do you want me to say, Allison? While you were prancing around Dallas playing at your vanity project, I was actually trying to save people. If you wanted to be involved, you should have showed up when I asked." He passed her a smile that could cut glass.

Allison opened her mouth to retort something but Diego stepped between them. "Enough. You," he stabbed a finger at Five. "Shut up." He turned to Allison. "And you're not helping, either."

She glared at him but relented.

Diego turned back to Five. "Those bruises are nasty, dude."

Five's facade cracked under that. His hands still rested over his chest, protecting himself. He looked away from Diego, down the hall toward the hotel room. He squinted, half-glaring still, his jaw working. He said nothing, but had stopped squirming in Luther's arms.

After several beats of silence, Diego sighed. "Do you at least know where you got them?"

Five looked back at Diego, guarded but appraising, like the question had been stupid (but secretly wasn’t). "Of course."

Diego nodded and walked past, officially breaking the tension holding the group there with a resigned, "Good."

"That's it?" Allison cried.

Diego passed her a look that shut her up. Five glanced rapidly between them. Luther watched the interaction in silence, thankful for once that Diego had the shared brain cell. Allison gave Five one more loaded look before following Diego.

Five renewed his struggle as they got to the hotel door. “I can walk in.”

“No, you can’t,” Luther said, squeezing gently.

“Luther,” he sighed, one of his hands finally left his chest to hook back around Luther’s neck. He pulled himself upright with surprising strength considering he’d been unconscious less the three minutes ago. “Let me down.” There was a please hiding in there and it broke Luther’s resolve in half like a dry twig.

He crouched, letting Five’s legs down. They had each other's shoulders hooked, Five readily used Luther to support himself. Luther didn’t mind, giving him a minute to find his feet.

“Is that really wise?” Allison asked, barely contained irritation in her voice. She was watching them with the room key in her hand, drawing out the moment. 

Luther and Five looked at her simultaneously. Luther felt his guts churn in guilt, but what else could he do? Five didn’t just  _ let _ things happen to him, and Luther didn’t want to get punched again.

Five scoffed in Luther’s ear, muttering quietly to himself. “You wouldn’t know ‘wise’ if it bit you on the ass.” It only had about half of its usual venom. Five mostly just sounded tired, like the whole conversation was too much for him.

Luther understood that, the desire to leave awful interactions. Five couldn’t teleport away, and Allison wasn’t accepting his usual snipe. He was trapped here with them, obviously uncomfortable. Luther ached with empathy.

“Say that again?” she demanded, sounding very much like a mother scolding her child.

Luther could feel the tension shoot through Five’s shoulders. He looked up at her, eyes ablaze. “Or what? You going to rumor me like you did your daughter?” A challenge rolled into an insult, spat like it left a bad taste. He shoved himself away from Luther, standing under his own spite.

Allison straighted like she’d been slapped, the irritation flared to a snarl and she opened her mouth to say something equally mean and biting. Diego, the sole holder of the braincell still, stepped between them a second time and snatched the keycard from Allison’s fingers. “Shut up, both of you.”

The moment he had the door unlocked, Five shoved past him, stalking into the hotel like a storm. Klaus was laying on one of the beds, looking at them with interest. “Hey guys, how’d it-- oh you found Five.”

“They sure did,” Five spat, flying past the beds and into the bathroom. The door shut behind him with a deafening slam.

“Oh, so it went well then,” Klaus said with a smarmy smile.

Allison laughed humorlessly but said nothing. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and remained outside. Luther hesitated at the door, trying to catch her eye. She shook her head, turning to the rail. Her shoulders were a tense line of anger and pain and Luther had no idea how to comfort her. 

“Let her cool off, big guy,” Diego said from beside him.

Luther sighed, gave Allison’s back one last forlorn look, before heading inside with his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little worried about the backtracking, trying to get the same scene from different perspectives, while trying to keep those perspective unique enough that it doesn't get boring. Five-angst is the fuel that feeds my soul so backtracking for those angsty monologues is 100% worth is for me.
> 
> Anyway, Five will eventually sleep, but I'm not done torturing him yet, so... :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five continues to be a mess, but this time with paranoia and anxiety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long! :(

The void was waiting for him again. He stood at the edge, as he always seemed to. Precariously teetering between despair and insanity. He wondered which way to fall. Back to the dusty ground that would cut him open, or down into the black from where he may not return.

_ It doesn’t matter,  _ sang a voice that might have sounded like Diego.

Five wondered, if he were to turn around and follow the voice, would he see his brother standing in the dust of a dead world? Could he forgive himself for conjuring him here? This place of weeping scars and chittering glass eyes and  _ madness madness madness _ leaking from the hole inside him.

_ I just thought he was crazy. _

“Oh, I’m sure he’s that, too.” Luther’s voice shattered the earth beneath him and he fell through a gap without a sound. 

He felt the nightmare recede again, suddenly aware of it for what it was.

He was also aware of how damn loud Luther was. “Shh--” And Christ, everything hurt. “Shit.” His body felt steamrolled, not quite his and yet painfully inescapable. His head pounded, his skin throbbed angry and bruised. Breathing was hard, the air feeling thick in his lungs. He could feel himself slipping away again and fought against it. Reality was bleeding back out before he had gotten a good grip on it.

He didn’t want to see the scars again, or stand before the void. He wanted the eyes to stop staring. But being awake hurt, his limbs weighed a ton, and time blended together uncomfortably.

He reached for Luther, he needed an anchor. There was no adrenaline this time, no sharp second of clarity. His instincts were taking a vacation. That alone should have been a sign but Five needed more than that. He needed to make sure.

“You’re not going to punch me again, are you?”

He forced his eyes open, everything reduced to faded action and slurred thoughts. The light hurt, but Luther’s face swam into view. The relief was palpable. Proof, at least to some lizard-brain part of Five, that he was safe with Luther, and he would wake up safe, too.

_ I’m sorry, _ he meant to say, because he felt bad. Luther didn’t deserve to be hurt. Even though he threw him off those stairs once. Threw him off the stairs when Five had only wanted his help. Luther was an asshole. “Fuck off, Luther.”

His brother laughed, warm and overpowering. It washed over Five, like an ocean tide that chased the chill from his bones. It banished the chittering eyes and weeping scars. It left nothing but the sense that his brother was there, and the deep rhythm of his heart. It was all Five needed. He let himself slip back beneath the veil of sleep, giving in, letting go.

Until Luther’s stride changed.

That was what brought him back, tugging him back to himself far more gently than Five could have ever hoped. He seeped back into himself. First as a trickle, sounds of footsteps, Luther’s breathing closeby, the warmth of the chest he was (embarrassingly) cradled against. Then all at once he was sharply awake, his body aching and sore but his mind finally clear.

He lifted his head, finding it easier. They were somewhere with far less light than before, Luther’s gate was stilted and harsher. When his brother spoke a greeting, the words bounced off of Five, taking a long second to register.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t quite all there yet.

Five blinked at his brother, finding the distance between his mind and his mouth to be quite long. Finally, he answered. “Hello, Luther.”

“We’re almost back.”

Back must have meant the hotel. One thought snapped the rest into place. His surroundings became clear to him. He was in the hotel stairway, they were almost back to their room. “Good.” 

The chill was back, starting in his fingers, dragging ice across his limbs. Five didn’t often notice the cold. Cold was a fact of life, and he had become the olympic champion of ignoring it. Forty-five winters that sucked the life from the earth, the light from the sky, and the warmth from all things had taught Five a lot about dealing with being cold.

Rule number one, keep all your limbs as close to you as possible. He couldn’t curl into a ball, but he could take his arm back from around Luther’s neck, even if it made him feel less secure. (Luther wasn’t going to drop him, he needed to relax.) Rule number two, try not to shiver. It burned calories you usually couldn’t afford to lose. He could suppress most of his physical reactions, usually with far more ease, but even now it was possible.

Swallowing shivers was still an art form, one that Five had perfected. So when one threatened, he clenched his jaws and locked his aching muscles against it. His arms curled over his stomach. Luther’s chest seeped warmth into his side.

It was odd that he was cold at all. Luther didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. “‘S cold?” His own words felt sluggish, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He wished he could shake this lethargy off but he knew it wasn’t going away anytime soon. Not until he got a chance to properly sleep.

Luther considered his question for a second, then said, “A little, yeah.”

Good enough, it was only April, and if he remembered his calendars correctly, April was in spring. Still cold at night, and with how dark it had become, it must be approaching dusk. Yeah, that explained why he was cold. This body was thin and attenuated, not very good at retaining heat. No layer of hardened muscles to keep him warm.

Besides, Luther was warm. 

Physical human contact wasn’t an easy thing for Five. He vaguely remembered a time when it had been. Casual hugs from his siblings, Klaus draping his arms around his shoulders, Ben sneaking into his room at night to crawl beneath the covers with him. Ben had always been a cuddler, and after the first few missions and the nightmares had started, he would often invade Five’s bed to escape the terrors. Five always sniped at him but never denied him.

He missed Ben.

He knew Ben would have hugged him when he came back.

No one else had. That was probably for the best. Five was sure he would have spontaneously combusted if they had. So keyed up as he had been, a hurricane under his skin dancing and screaming and thrashing in delight and agony at seeing them.

The apocalypse made a lot of things from Five’s childhood a distant fuzzy dream. There were long, frigid nights, buried beneath a mountain of snow and rubble, that Five had curled around Delores and pretended she was warm. He spent days and weeks wondering what it would feel like for someone to touch his face. He would caress his own cheek and pretend but that always just made it worse.

It took him years to stop pretending. By the time he did, he had forgotten what he was even yearning for in the first place.

And then the Commission found him and they ran him through the gambit of desensitization. They did other things, too, things that put him on a dial and made it easier to control himself. They did so with a scalpel and told him not to worry about the rest. Every touch had an ulterior motive, they all wanted something, and more than half the time it was to hurt him. Then for two years the only human touch he allowed himself was that of the dead or the dying. He didn’t deserve anything else.

His siblings had no such hangups, no such considerations. They had no hesitation, and they didn’t think when they reached for him. He avoided them when he could, it was easier than getting caught recoiling. Or worse yet, lingering in desire. Everything else he ignored out of hand. What he couldn’t avoid he forgot about even as it was happening. The conflict was too much to acknowledge, desire and aversion at total war inside him.

He couldn’t avoid Allison’s hug earlier. He knew it wasn’t really for him, mostly for her. She had needed it, even if Five was flabbergasted to think she would seek it from him of all people. Regardless, he had ignored it, because it meant nothing and it was inconsequential.

He couldn’t avoid being cradled in Luther’s arms, either. Not when he knew he was out of teleports, and he could barely move for how much he ached. His torso throbbed something fierce and he probably had a cracked rib for how his breathing hurt. His ribs were probably already cracked but he had the vague recollection of hitting the ground outside the gas station pretty hard. That probably didn’t help.

So Five wasn’t a huge fan of being touched. He would be if he could just trust it, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t  _ currently _ a fan, but Luther was warm and Five was pretty sure he would not have made it up the stairs. 

Luther carrying him wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. It was entirely embarrassing and Five knew it wasn’t helping his endeavors to keep his siblings from prying uselessly, but it  _ could _ have been worse. Five could have kept his grip on consciousness, walked all the way down the parking lot with his siblings hovering, only to reach the stairs and... 

His mind ground to a halt. He had no idea what he would have done. Died of humiliation, probably.

Dodged that bullet, he supposed.

Luther reached the top of the landing and stopped. He turned to face the stairs again and Five made to stand. If Luther was stopping, he might have wanted him off. The room wasn’t far now, just a few more doors down. Five certainly wanted off.

Luther’s arms tightened, hard muscle gentle against his efforts. Five ignored the way it flipped his stomach over.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Luther’s voice was in his ears, way too close and it took concerted effort for Five not to shrink away from it.

There was nowhere for him to go, Luther’s grip was absolute. “I can walk from here.” He knew it was weak, the same thing he’d been saying earlier, just with different words. Luther didn’t listen then, he wouldn’t listen now. Which was frustrating when really, the only thing Five had absolutely needed Luther for was… “The stairs.” He glared at them, instead of Luther. His brother had done him a favor, he’d already been punched, he could spare him from a nasty look.

“The last time you said that, you fainted again.”

“Fainted,” Five blurted out. He blinked once, letting it process. It wasn’t a word Five would have used on himself. Passed out, over-exerted, tired. Those words were better.  _ Fainted _ sounded weak, sounded unintentional and made him feel vulnerable. It made Luther sound like he saw Five as vulnerable and that was not something a time-traveling assassin was usually okay with.

The distinct memory of Luther pulling him up by the wrist like he was the goddamn catch of the day danced behind his eyes. He leveled his brother with a mean look. “You pulled me up too fast, you moron.”

“Well, maybe I did it to make a point.”

“You’re not smart enough for that,” it was a gunshot retort, but it was true. Five knew Luther didn’t have the foresight to actually keel him over on purpose. 

Diego snorted from the top stair, finishing his climb. Allison was beside him. They were both looking at Five.

His stomach twisted again, the memory of Diego in the store, asking him about his last job, looking at him with eyes that saw something Five wasn’t sure he liked. “Oh good, you’re still here,” he said it perhaps too meanly, his voice dripping with unintentional hostility.

He didn’t get the satisfaction of Diego's reaction, Allison stepped up to him, blocking his field of view completely. Five could see something on her face, something in the way she looked at him. He couldn’t tell if it was pity or something else. Either way, he didn’t like it.

“Yes?”

“Five, I need you to be honest with us.”

The discomfort in his stomach twisted again, fluttering like dust kicked up in a wind. He schooled himself, forced his breathing normal, not a shiver or tremble or tensed muscle in sight. His insides whispered in terror but Five’s poker face didn’t betray him. Even so, he didn’t trust words. He watched her like she watched him, waiting.

“Where did you get those bruises?”

Bruises? Pfft, she was going to have to be more specific than that. Five had a lot of bruises, so many he probably couldn’t give the full rundown of their origins, but he could get pretty damn close. He had no interest in that either. It wasn’t killing him so it was inconsequential. 

Still, her tone irked him. Prying and demanding and wanting to know more than was appropriate. Five wasn’t about to dress down just to satisfy her whims. He wasn’t a child, and he certainly wouldn’t be cowed with a mean look.

“Oh I don’t know,” he hissed, full irritation and dripping sarcasm. He wanted her to get away, he knew politely asking wasn’t going to cut it, and she obviously wasn’t going to believe him if he told the truth (the truth being that he was  _ fine _ , just tired and achy and cold for some reason). “Maybe it was when I had dinner with the Swedes.” It was as good a guess as any. He was sure that the big blond oaf had left a few good bruises. He still couldn’t believe he’d been unable to snap the guy’s neck. Higher class assassins were usually augmented but Five was supposed to be stronger than that. He really hated this scrawny little body sometimes.

“I’m serious.”

“That’s nice.” He couldn’t give a fuck. Allison could be as nosy as she wanted. Just because Five couldn’t teleport didn’t mean he wasn’t incapable of ignoring her demands.

She moved suddenly, reached for him. Five could have reacted, but stopped himself. He had already hit Luther earlier, he would have been in real trouble if he laid a hand on Allison. Luther was resilient, and had deserved it. Allison was soft and fragile.

Soft and fragile and still capable of hurting him. She pressed her hand into his chest, her touch lighting a fire of agony in his body. He bit his tongue to stop from shouting, inhaling with burning lungs, trying to keep from choking--

_ Blood, there was blood. On his chest, on their bodies, in the hay, everywhere. He could smell it, leaking out all around him, and the cold, oh god the cold. He had failed. He failed and they will die and so will he-- _

He patted himself down, for a terrifying moment back amongst the hay, his family bloody and dead all around him. But he was fine, there was no blood, he just ached with exhaustion and his body burned with two weeks of non stop fighting. 

His thoughts suddenly ground to screeching halt, for a breathless space between seconds all his mind could do was scream at him. Then he flew into reverse, every interaction with his siblings coming to the forefront of his brain, the pieces falling into the place, the big picture suddenly visible. Klaus in the bathroom. The conversation with Diego in the store, the questions about the blood. Luther had carried him, pulling him up too fast to make him pass out (whether or not the bastard did it on purpose), and now Allison. Allison, who he had comforted and sought to include when he hadn’t needed to. Allison who he had barely seen, who had been late for his deadline, who had not even given him the time of day.

Now she was asking him to be  _ honest _ while she-- she--

( _ She’s worried about you. _ )

_ No you idiot! Don't you see?  _ This was a concerted effort, this had an intention besides their basic human instinct. They were working together. Together, against him.

And to what end?

The pity, why did they look at him with so much pity?

He couldn't help the way the thought curled and twisted him up. He fought against every instinct inside him that told him to teleport away or attack.

He glared at her instead, anger clawing at his throat. He wanted to snap her down to pieces, and wanted her to feel his wrath. She was watching him from a step away, having retreated to a safe distance like a coward. She had the expectant look to her gaze, like she was waiting on him. Waiting for him to say something, to react to her transgression.

The words bubbled out like venom, tasting bitter on his tongue. “What do you want me to say, Allison? While you were prancing around Dallas playing at your vanity project, I was actually trying to save people.” He was trying to save  _ her _ . Her and her stupid husband and her stupid child in a different timeline. He was trying to save her stupid brothers, and her stupid sister. He was trying to save all of them. (Why couldn’t they see that?) She had been no help, getting caught up in her own narcissism, her ego controlling her actions and driving her into making a massive fool of herself. 

Five was insulted, that now of all times, after he’d dragged them kicking and screaming back from the brink of three deaths, does she want to help. And help how? By pressing his injuries? By making him remember how he had failed them again, how they had died on his watch,  _ again _ .

He didn’t need the reminder. That wasn’t helping.

“If you wanted to be involved, you should have showed up when I asked.” He found himself smiling at her, because the request had been simple, back then. The cost had been so goddamn high, but the request was easy. Show up in an alleyway at a certain time. So entrenched in her vane endeavors she couldn’t make a simple deadline.

Five didn’t need her help. He didn’t need any of them. He had saved them thrice without it.

( _ You know that’s not true. You could not have done it without them. _ )

Diego stepped between them, snapping at them both. He turned back to Five, the same look he had in the store. “Those bruises are nasty, dude.”

Five looked away. He couldn’t-- the look Diego gave him wore at him. It ached in his exhaustion. That damned look of pity that made his insides scream. They were already crying, twisting and angry and terrified.

He was too tired for this. Too tired to deal with their bullshit.

Diego sighed, in defeat or disappointment Five couldn’t tell. "Do you at least know where you got them?"

Well, that was a stupid question. “Of course,” he said, his voice steady despite the way his stomach still twisted. Why would Diego even ask something like that? Five had a lot of bruises, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t tell someone how he got most of them. He had never had to do such a thing for anyone but Delores, and even she never cared so much for that.

“Good,” was all Diego said. He walked away.

“That’s it?” Allison’s cry was loud and indignant and it took all of Five’s self control not to flinch at it. It wouldn’t usually bug him so much, people could shout all they wanted. He didn’t like Allison shouting, he didn’t like her touching him, or even  _ looking _ at him. He wanted her to shut up and go away and leave him alone.

Diego shot her a look that Five couldn’t read. They had an entire conversation right in front of him with only their eyes and Five caught none of it. He was too tired for this, too tired to make sense of faces and guess intentions and parse words and tones and meanings. This was exhausting and there was something going on between his siblings that Five was not included in, nor did he understand.

The worst part was knowing it was probably about him. He couldn't deny it. Not with Diego practically giving it away that they had had a family meeting without him. He’d been excluded, (he’d left when he shouldn’t have again) and now he couldn’t shake the feeling they were (intentionally) plotting against him.

It all felt… wrong. The way Diego looked back at Allison like he was asking her to wait. Wait for what? What were they planning? 

And when Allison looked back at Five with a load of questions and unspoken frustration, Five knew it couldn’t be good. Paranoia gnawed at his chest.

More so than the pain that had yet to settle. He tried distracting himself, the idea that he was being conspired against a great one to start. But he couldn’t keep ignoring the fact that his whole body ached like he’d been run over. It wasn’t just his muscles that ached, or the places where he now knew he was probably bruised to hell and back. It was in his joints now, like he was made of rusty hinges and nothing felt right.

He didn’t want to think about it. It reminded him of stinking dirt hovels and being terrified that he wouldn’t wake up, of aching with hunger and thirst, and Delores’s voice getting shrill with anxiety.

He  _ really _ didn’t want to think about the aches in his joints or how the distant parts whispered the obvious conclusion before he could banish it completely.

Five was not getting sick. He didn’t get sick. He was merely tired.

Allison and Diego and their conspiracy could go fuck themselves. He was  _ fine _ . Only Luther and his big ass arms were worthy of Five’s presence.

It was the only reason he didn’t demand to walk again. He trusted Luther, and he couldn’t imagine the big idiot was in on whatever the other two were. (Except he probably was, and even Five wasn’t fooling himself with that-- he didn’t walk because he hurt too much to try, and Luther was undoubtedly involved.)

He still renewed his efforts to get back to his feet when they stopped by the door. He knew that Luther would want to put him to bed and he wasn’t touching a single thread on any of those beds until he had scrubbed the blood from his skin and hair. He didn’t give a shit what the others thought. He needed a shower, that was priority number one and it had been that way for way too long.

Luther tried to stop him again, predictably.

“I can walk.”

“No, you can’t.” Luther squeezed. Five bit down on the urge to punch his brother again.

He hooked an arm back around Luther’s shoulders instead, anchoring himself with some mustered strength. The motion sent aches across his chest and down his side, shooting sharp pains all through him. He ignored it with a heavy sigh that came out with his brother’s name. “Let me down,”  _ please. _ He didn’t know how else to ask.

Luther broke with a sigh, complying at long last. It was with singing relief that Five’s feet finally touched the ground. His knees felt like gelatine, wobbling under the pressure. Perhaps he clung a little too hard to Luther, but the big idiot didn’t seem to mind. They had each other’s shoulders hooked, Five keeping himself up with one arm and Luther keeping him steady with a hand around his side.

Luther said nothing, made no moves that would unsettle Five. He waited, and Five was never more grateful. He knew that was patience, the one he had silently asked for. It was being given and if Five wasn’t struggling to keep his composure, he might have said thank you.

“Is that really wise?” Allison’s voice, dripping with malcontent and hiding a sardonic prying question between the lines.

Five looked at her, examined her for a second. She stood by the door, arms crossed, the key card for the room held nonchalantly between two delicate fingers. Her eyes were tired, clouded with what could have been anger, perhaps frustration. She was watching him, and it made Five’s skin crawl worse than what he was already fighting.

She was being a dumbass. Drawing out the moment on purpose just to make him suffer, just to make him squirm.

He hated it when sometimes he looked at Allison and instead of seeing the soft intelligence that was his sister, he saw sharp painted nails, red shoes, and immaculate blond hair. He hated himself when his mind compared his darling sister to the one person he probably hated more than himself. He hated seeing the architect of his suffering lurking in the eyes of someone he desperately wanted-- wanted…

( _ You just want them to love you as you do them. You're so terrified they don't love you back. It hurts to see someone you hate reflected in them. You fear they will see you as she did. _ )

He pushed it down, scoffing. (And tried to ignore the way his insides cried at the denial.) “You wouldn’t know ‘wise’ if it bit you on the ass.” Maybe he shouldn’t have said that out loud. He didn’t say it for her (it might have been at Delores's nag, but he wasn't planning to admit to anything). She heard him mutter, she heard his tone.

“Say that again?” She demanded, and then he  _ really _ saw it.

All the sharp smiles and sharp nails and sharp sharp sharp. He didn’t want to see his sister like that. He didn’t want this image in his head that was gripping his heart and crawling up his throat. He could feel the shake in his limbs, could feel his control slipping through his fingers. Like sand through an hourglass, seconds that slipped by unretainable.

Five saw the Handler, demanding ever more of him. He saw his siblings turning against him because he was weak and they didn’t need him. He saw them dying in the bloody hay over and over because they  _ did _ need him. He saw the void, gaping out at him from where his sister’s eyes should be, cold and hungry and wanting something from him he wasn’t capable of giving.

Hadn’t he given them enough already?

His control slipped, he scrambled to catch it back. The world wobbled around him, the light bleeding red in his eyes. He wanted to rage and scream at them, just so they might understand the storm beneath his skin for only a second.

“Or what?” Shaken and breathy but strong with self-righteous fury. He stood on his own now, away from Luther. “You going to rumor me like you did your daughter?” Go for the kill, leave nothing behind.

Allison straightened as if he’d physically hit her. The pain on her face was like a rush of blood between his teeth. It was sickly and made him want to gag but it filled the hollowness. It wrestled with his control, threatened to rend him in two. He wanted to hurt her more, hurt her like she had him. Retribution.

( _ This isn’t the Handler, Five. This is Allison.) _

She’d still hurt him.

( _ She didn’t mean to.) _

He wanted Delores to shut up, he couldn’t dare break the challenge with the woman standing by the door, lest she win. Lest she see a crack and strike him when he was distracted.

Diego stepped between them again, breaking the spell of rage that had flooded Five. Suddenly Delores’s rational murmurings were so much louder.

Allison was his sister and he had probably just said the worst possible thing he could have.

Five had fucked up.

Again.

“Shut up, both of you.” Diego, sweet saint of stupid, but perhaps not a total idiot after all. Five would sing his praises if his throat hadn’t closed up and his tongue hadn’t twisted itself into a leaded knot in his mouth.

The door couldn't open fast enough, and if it weren't for the burning in his chest and fingers he would have ripped the sky open and walked through it to get inside. He had one goal, one destination. Bathroom, shower, away from Allison, away from the creeping terror and suffocating guilt. He needed to wash it off, he needed to breathe, he needed to collapse somewhere safe and alone and put the pieces of himself back together in peace and silence.

Klaus said something that got lost in the roar, but Five caught the second half. “Oh you found Five.”

“They sure did,” he found himself spitting. Automatic and unbidden, his reactions torn from him without control.

He slammed the bathroom door behind him with far more force than necessary. For a blissful second the only sounds were his own breathing. He let himself sink, inhaling deep hitching breathes. The tile floor was cold under his palms, cold against his cheek. He wasn’t sure if he’d collapsed or layed down, but he didn’t care.

He was too tired, and his blood was too hot. His head pounded and his insides screamed. Sharp claws of pain dug into his muscles and bones and all he wanted was to drown or sleep or both.

He ached in ways he knew he shouldn’t. When he closed his eyes, the void opened and swallowed him.

Something pounded back into his consciousness, rattling him from the darkness. His eyes flicked opened, bright fluorescent light stabbing into his skull. He winced as the pain grabbed him again, trying to curl away from the sound and the light.

The pounding came again, rapid knocks from behind him that beat an off-rhythm into his head. He growled, pushing himself off the tile floor so at least he was sitting. His surroundings came back, the fog parted. He blinked at the bathroom around him, vaguely remembering how he had gotten here but not how he had ended up on the floor. He hadn’t teleported had he?

He touched his face absently, finding that, yes, his nose was bleeding again. Maybe he had tried, he mused absently, his mind lingering on the fading memory of him barking like a feral dog at Allison. Another panic-port, perhaps. The dangerous kind, the kind that made him miss. He hadn’t had enough juice for the last one, thank whatever merciful deity smiled on him for a moment. Missing twice in one day was too much for his bruised ego.

He sighed. His body certainly hurt like he had tried again. A tingling ache in his fingers, a rough burning in his sternum. It was odd that he couldn’t quite remember the moment he had tried to pull and failed. It was lost in the fog of emotions he was now too tired to conjure again.

He could only think back at it with a sort of detached shame. He would probably have to apologize to Allison. He would make her wait for it, give it when she’s earned it perhaps. But nonetheless, one would be needed.

The pounding came again, though now that his senses had been wrangled back under control, he realized it was more like gentle knocking.

“Five?” Vany, her voice meek and small through the door.

Five’s stomach twisted again and his breath hitched. It sent a shock of pain through his ribs and chest.

Uh, no. He was not about to entertain  _ another _ test of his (now non-existent) self-control by his siblings. Not from anyone, and most certainly not from  _ Vanya _ . He’d never be caught saying it to her face, but she could go fuck herself, too. He didn’t want to think she was in on whatever the hell was going on between Allison and Diego and probably Luther and Klaus, too. 

Because that would mean all of them. All of them working against him. He was sadly already growing accustomed to that, but then he at least knew  _ why _ . Here, and now? He couldn't parse it. They probably thought he was crazy.

Actually, scratch the 'probably'. They  _ did _ think he was crazy. He had heard Allison say it, but for the life of him couldn't remember when. It didn't matter. She didn't have to say it. Five could see it in the way she looked at him...

The pity in their eyes. He began to understand and it made his blood run cold.

Did they see a wounded animal in need of euthanasia?

A laugh bubbled in him, the thought tickling and burning in his chest worse than any ache or cracked bone or worn muscle. It spilled past his lips in a hiccup, dripping out of him like sickness leaking from the void inside.

Did the idea hurt so much because it might have been true?

"Five?"

He swallowed the laugh, swallowed the madness and despair and the harrowing agony inside him that had nothing to do with his injuries. He shoved it down and shut his mouth and didn’t dare make another noise.

He glanced back at the door in time for Vanya to speak again, her voice quiet and imploring. “Five? Can I come in? I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Did she, really? Or was she there to watch him with those eyes filled with pity. He wasn’t sure if he could stand seeing it from her. It was bad enough with all the others, and now even Vanya… 

Five was supposed to be the one who had his shit together. He couldn’t let her see him on his knees, laughing at his own lunacy, scrambling for some semblance of humanity in some dingy motel bathroom. He was above all that.

Whatever they saw, something pitiful, something feral, or just nothing at all, it didn't matter. He would prove them wrong with the same enduring survivability he had proven the wasteland wrong. He wouldn't stop protecting them, even if they didn't want it. He had spent too long dreaming of the day he got them back, and he had sacrificed far too much to keep them.

Like hell was going to let them piss it all away because they thought he was a loon. It didn’t matter what they thought of him, as long as they were alive.

“Five?” Vanya called again, sounding increasingly insistent. Five had no idea how much patience Vanya would have for him, but considering everything she had been through, probably not a lot.

“G-give me a minute,” he bit off a curse at the break in his voice.

“Okay,” she called back, sounding small but almost happy he had finally answered.

Five didn’t feel right, climbing up to his feet. He straightened his shirt and tie, swiping his hair back into something not so wild, and cleaned his face of blood again. He used the sink to keep himself steady, fighting off the dizziness that washed over him.

“Hey, can I come in now?” Vanya said through the door after a drawn out moment. It hadn’t felt like a whole minute, but Five knew he would need all the time in the world to be composed enough for this.

He didn’t have that so he moved back to the door and opened it just enough to see out with one eye. “What?”

“Are you decent?” It was a stupid question, she could see through the crack that he was still wearing his clothes.

Five rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Vanya.”

She flinched, just a tiny bit, almost imperceptible, but Five saw it. He wanted to apologize, he turned his face away from the door instead.

“I just-- hey!” She pushed at the door like she was afraid he was about to close it on her, pushing it open a little more. It threatened to unbalance Five so he leaned heavily against it to stop her. “Wait, don’t. I just want to talk.”

“About what?” he spat, feeling brittle.

She held up the bottle of rubbing alcohol, a white shirt, and some packages of gauze. “Diego said you would need some ice packs. I came with alcohol. Please, Five. I just want to make sure.”

Make sure of what, exactly? He narrowed his eyes at her, looking her up and down. She looked exhausted too, dark shadows under her eyes, her face a little too pale. She’d showered recently, and had changed into a white shirt not unlike the one she had draped over her arm for him. She watched him with quiet patience that made him uncomfortable.

“Please, Five. We’re all going to keep bugging you until you let one of us in.”

He sighed, knowing she was right. If they were making such an effort to do this prying at him, they wouldn’t stop until he had given in. These stubborn fools.

( _ Ever thought maybe they care? _ )

“A ridiculous notion.”

“What?” Vanya asked. “What is? Us bugging you?”

“No, not you,” he sighed.

( _ Let her in, Five. It’s the only way. _ )

His chest still hurt where Allison had touched him. 

( _ She’s not capable of hurting you. _ )

That was a big fat lie, and Delores knew it but he couldn’t bite that out at her because she wasn’t there and he was doing his very best to keep a lid on all the crazy. It was getting harder.

“Five, what’s going on?” Vanya was still waiting outside the door, watching him through the tiny gap he had allowed, wedged between his weight and her foot in the jam. That damned look of pity he’d been dreading plastered on her face.

“Nothing.”

His sister raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him and it nearly broke his resolve. It was the kind of look she used to give him when they had been kids and he was planning something stupid and risky (as he had done a lot back then). This was the kind of look he imagined her giving him in the apocalypse when he thought up some harebrained scheme to get himself out of the latest tight jam. It was a look he could picture on Delores, if he really tried.

“Seriously,” she said. “I’m not leaving until you let me in.”

He blinked at her, a little shocked at her assertiveness. Meek little Vanya was growing up. Five would have been proud if it wasn’t being directed at him. 

He got over his surprise quickly, leveling her with a hostile look that he could only hope came across as intimidating. He sounded drawn out, even to himself. “Why are you being so stubborn?” He leaned a little further on the door frame, readjusting his stance so he could rest his head against the jam and still look out at her.

“Why are  _ you _ being so stubborn?” She retorted, matching his glare with a light one of her own. It was almost playful.

“I’m not, I just want to wash up without one of you in my business. I’m not a child, Vanya, I don’t need help bathing.” He tried to eek some condescension into his voice but it mostly came out as a drawl monotone. He supposed he could play on that, too. Total calm. He was certainly numb enough to pretend at that by now.

“No, but no one has gotten a look at you and we’re worried.”

“About what?” He almost feared the answer.

“Don’t be difficult, Five.”

He couldn’t tell if her exasperation was real and she expected him to guess or if it was a purposeful non-answer. So Five said nothing, waiting for her to elaborate.

She stared back, her expression blank, then confused, then frustrated, then sad for some reason. All in a handful of seconds, and she was back with her look of pity. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Are you afraid that we’ll judge you if you are?”

Also a ridiculous notion. Their judgements obviously meant nothing to him. Only their lives did. (At least they’re alive to think at all.)

( _ Oh, it matters more than the sun shining in the sky, but you’ll never admit it. _ )

“Shut up.”

Vanya’s face broke into understanding and Five found himself recoiling like she bit him. He shoved away from the door, trying to close it. But he was tired, and Vanya had  _ strength _ now. The door sang a little when it got pushed open, and Vanya was shouldering her way in.

Five retreated across the bathroom, a hiss escaping from between his teeth like an air leak.

Vanya closed the door, and gestured to the toilet, setting the lid down. “Sit.”

He glared at her.

“Seriously. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Why did she have to say it like that? Like he was a scared stray on the street. 

He sat on the rim of the bathtub instead, still glaring at her. She smiled anyway, stepping closer, blocking out the fluorescent lights over the sink, making her shadow loom. He looked down, one his hands grabbing at the fabric over his chest. 

Then she was crouched down in front of him, reaching for his hand, her eyes laden and heavy with that horrid pity again. He growled at her, without meaning to, pulling back as she reached. She paused, her eyes meeting his. This probably wasn’t helping his image. He was too tired to be angry, but she was right to believe he didn’t trust her. He wished he could. He really did.

“Allison hurt you, huh.” Vanya said, her voice gentle. “She didn’t mean it.”

“Shut up.” Yup, not helping.

Vanya winced, which was better than a flinch, but still carved at his guilt. Why couldn’t  _ he _ shut up?

“Really,” she reached for the hand twisted in his own shirt, her eyes warm and soft. It was too much, and when she finally bridged the gap and her fingers met his skin, it took all his effort not to jump. He closed his eyes and let her words wash over him. “She’s worried, and you never tell us anything.”

He let out a breath, she pulled his hand toward her, gentle and slow and infuriatingly patient. “I always tell you exactly what you need to know.”

“Your injuries not included?”

He looked at her. What did his injuries even matter? A few bruises and cracked ribs. He’d survived worse alone. Now with how they were acting, he didn’t know what to trust them with anymore. It would be easier to tell if he could just sleep, but that seemed a pipedream at this point. “You’re all conspiring against me.”

She blinked, looking honestly surprised. “No, no no. Five, we’re not-- oh…” The look was back, like he had just broken her heart all over again. He looked away, feeling the heat rise on his skin again. He wanted to push her away but he didn’t dare move a muscle and break the delicate control he had managed to keep. She was still holding one of his hands, brushing her thumbs over his knuckles in soft repeated motions.

“We’re not conspiring against you, Five,” she said after a long pause. “We’re just worried.”

Worried about  _ what? _ About him? He couldn’t believe that outright, no one had  _ ever _ cared for him before and he wasn’t about to let himself sink into childish fantasies. They hadn’t seen him in nearly twenty years and he had done nothing but destroy their lives in his attempt to save them. He couldn’t think of one good reason they would  _ care _ . Luther had spelled it out already, the big idiot. Maybe he should have taken the hint.

He knew he wouldn’t. He couldn’t give up on them, not after it was the only thing that kept him alive for so many decades. 

“Five?”

Had he zoned out? Probably. His mind wasn’t working at it’s usual pace, but his thoughts still wound and swirled all around him endlessly.

“Can I see?”

He looked down at her. She had one hand reaching for him again, toying with the edges of his tie. Her other hand still had his trapped within her fingers. He looked down at the hand near his tie.

He had felt worse. What more could she do to him that wasn’t already done?

He had already watched her die. He had already lost her, three times now. He supposed the very fact that she stood in this bathroom with him, prying away at his shell like an insistent predator, should have been blessing enough for him.

He sighed, feeling it stutter out of him unsteadily. She squeezed his hand, gently tugging on him. He was too tired to keep fighting like this.

She tugged at the top of his tie, gentle and smooth, it came loose easily. She stood from her crouch in front of him, reaching with both hands to pull it over his head. He tried to stop the flinch but his control was thin and he did so anyway, striking through him uninvited.

Vanya paused, and he could feel her looking. His face twisted, reflecting the disgust curling up in him, he knew. He was slipping but there was nothing left to hold on to.

She made a soft noise, gentle in her throat, like a hum or a coo. A noise you made at small children or scared animals. Five growled, ironically. “I’m not an animal,” he snapped.

She withdrew completely at his words, taking the tie with her, having pulled it over his head in a quick motion. “No, Five, I never said you were.” She was crouching in front of him again, both hands gathering up the one he had left on his lap. She stroked a soft pattern with her thumbs across the back of it, distracting but oddly pleasant. It sent a tingle up his arm that was hard to ignore.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like one.” She had paused before saying it, and when she spoke, she did so into utter silence. There was no way he couldn’t hear her, and it felt like she was making sure of it. Sucking all the sound from the air until only her voice remained.

He looked down at the hand caught in both of hers. It was stupid that her hands, so soft and delicate, could hold so confidently to his. Amazing that she could look at him with all that pity and still say she didn’t see an animal.

Five sighed, overwhelmed, exhausted. Confused.

She bridged the gap between them again, soft fingers reaching to cup his face. He saw it coming but he still recoiled, automatic and without thinking. She didn’t this time, like she knew he would, expected it of him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He hated that she had to say it. He hated that it hurt to hear it. He hated that he needed it.

He finally brought his gaze up to meet her’s. Sad brown eyes stared back, reaching into his heart and begging to find a common ground. She cupped his cheek with one hand, her fingers blessedly cool against his skin. He didn't lean, though a small part wanted to. He didn't retreat either. He closed his eyes against the pity on her face, swallowing his shame.

Feeling hollow and shaken, he finally nodded at her, giving her the bizarre permission he could feel her seeking. He had nothing left to give, and yet still feared she would find something to take. It didn’t matter.

If they thought he was crazy, it didn’t matter. If she ripped from him the proof of his weakness, he decided that wouldn’t matter either. Nothing did. Only their lives.

She wasn’t dead in a barn in Dallas five decades in the past. Everything else was inconsequential.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a really hard time writing this for some reason. I have three versions of this, two of which have been scrapped out of hand.
> 
> Next time, we visit with Vanya. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya goes in for the kill (her weapon is love).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'll keep my chapters in the 5-6k ranges as far as length.  
> Also Me: Writes a nearly 10k chapter, with no good way to split it up.
> 
> I felt bad cutting it in half, so here, have the whole thing.
> 
> RIP any sort of length consistency I had, it'll all be downhill from here, let's be real.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy some Vanya.

_ Slam! _

Vanya jolted awake, anxiety jittering across her limbs the moment wakefulness hit her. Goosebumps lit her skin, every sound in this hotel room and the next amplified in her ears.

Klaus was in the next room over, tutting softly. “What happened?” He drawled, sounding mildly amused.

Vanya blinked a few times in the dim lighting, whatever the response had been, it wasn’t verbal. She turned her head against the pillow, glancing across the room. It was empty of people. She rolled up to her feet, feeling exhaustion roll up with her. She had been asleep for less than an hour and her body begged for more. She ignored it, trudging to the connecting door, spying Luther and Diego as the newest arrivals in the other room.

Luther was sprawled across the single couch, looking dejected as usual. Diego had perched on the unoccupied queen bed, pensive in thought.

“What happened?” she asked again, her voice light with false innocence. 

Luther looked up at her, offering a small wave. “Hey Vanya, we pissed off Five.” He gestured to the bathroom door to her left. The light was on, but there was silence from within.

“He’s always pissed,” she said.

Diego snorted. “Allison really ruffled his feathers.”

“Is that what you want to call it?” Luther asked, incredulous. “I’ll admit, she shouldn’t have--” he waved his hand in the air vaguely. “But Jesus, that was uncalled for.”

Diego raised an eyebrow, mimicking Luther’s vague hand wave. “She punched him.”

“No, no. Not really.”

“He acted like she punched him. She got out of his way like she thought he was gonna fight back.”

“He punched  _ me _ , remember. I don’t blame her for backing up.”

“You didn’t drop him.”

“I wasn’t gonna.”

“Wait, wait,” Klaus interjected. “What did Allison do?”

“She punched him in the chest.”

“No, she just, sort of, pushed on him, but you know.” Luther shrugged. 

Vanya’s gut did a little dance. “Is Five alright?”

Diego glanced at her, something dark in his eyes. “Probably not. He’s not dying for once. Not that he would tell us if he was.”

“So your plan of attack didn’t work out, then?” Klaus asked, managing to sound a little smug about it.

“He’s a prickly bastard,” Diego started.

“It went pretty bad,” Luther finished.

There was a long beat of silence, everyone quietly taking in that information. “Where’s Allison?” Vanya asked after a time.

“Outside, cooling off.” Luther said.

“What did Five say?” Klaus asked, sounding only mildly interested. He was chewing absently on some gum he had pulled from a vending machine; where or how he had gotten it out without any money was beyond Vanya and she wasn’t planning on asking.

“Allison pissed him off, and he challenged her to rumor him,” Diego answered. 

“Brought up Claire when he did,” Luther finished.

Vanya and Klaus winced simultaneously. Allison’s soft spots were always going to be her relationships. And now… Vanya didn’t even know if Claire was going to exist in this new timeline. “He’s bad at this,” Vanya noted for the rest of them.

“That’s not a good excuse,” Luther snapped, but it didn’t have much anger. “None of us are  _ good _ at this.”

There was silence again. “Someone should go talk to Allison,” Vanya said. Someone would need to talk to Five, too. The hotel was too close quarters for any of them to be at each other’s throats. She couldn’t imagine things would be smoothed over by bedtime, but she knew she could at least start. Besides, she figured it was her turn to take a crack at Five. She was worried, and was distinctly aware that he always seemed kinder to her than to the others.

One of the things she had missed when he had disappeared. Five and Ben had always been the ones to stop and include her. Five used to confide in her as kids when he wouldn’t with anyone else. She knew about all the shit Dad put him through, all the late night training and how he pushed him past his limits because Five’s were so much more obvious than the others. 

When he had left and her siblings' grief turned into anger, she was the only one that knew they were wrong when they said he’d been Dad’s favorite and he had had it easiest. And now he would have it the best since he wasn’t even there to suffer with them.

She knew they were wrong, but never knew how to speak up for him. Even now, she wasn’t sure what to say to keep the peace. She didn’t understand this new version of Five that had much sharper edges, who didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve for her, but still looked at her with a gentleness that touched at her buried aches and pains.

She missed Five, as much as she missed Ben. The difference was that Five was here, distant and different, but here. She had to figure out how to reach him. She had learned a lot from Harlan. Maybe, she could use that.

“I’ll talk to Five,” she said when no one acknowledged the last thing she said. 

Diego looked over at that. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “What’s the worse thing he could say to me?”

Luther scoffed. “Don’t underestimate him. He’s an asshole, he’ll think of something.

“Go talk to Allison,” she told him in response.

Luther huffed and made to stand. Klaus lifted his hand to stop him, rolling off the bed. “No,” the seance said. “I’ll deal with Allison. You’ll just depress her more with your kicked-puppy looks.”

Luther didn’t say anything to that, merely looked at Klaus with further dejection. He slumped defeated to the couch, his head rolling against the back.

“Five will need some ice,” Diego said to no one in particular. He heaved himself off the bed like it took some great effort and followed Klaus out the entry door. That left only Vanya and Luther and the silent bathroom in the back of the room. 

She cleared her throat, not sure how to start. Breaking silences wasn’t always something she was good at. One on one conversations with her family always seemed so much harder. It was easier to fade into the background and be forgotten so she could observe at her leisure when it was multiples of them. “Is there--” she swallowed when Luther turned his gaze to her. “Is there more I should know before I…?” She gestured to the bathroom door.

Luther paused, mulling over her question. Then he pointed to the bag Diego had left on the bed. “There’s some clean shirts in there. Rubbing alcohol. He’s uh, pretty bruised up.”

“We all are.”

Luther shook his head. “You and Allison, maybe Diego’s ankle.” Luther himself was pretty resilient, Vanya knew. She’d also helped pull dirt and rubble from a gash in his mottled skin, so she knew his invincible act was just that, an act.

“It can’t be that bad. You have a few nasty ones too.”

Luther sighed, heavily and exhausted. “Maybe it's because he’s so small.”

Everyone was small to Luther. Vanya didn’t point that out to him, figuring he probably knew but had just forgotten. She didn’t want to pester him with the obvious. 

Besides that, she couldn’t really picture Five as small. He was about her height, slimmer, sure, but he was also a teenager. Five himself was never really small, though. Not in her eyes. His mind was too big, his personality too explosive and demanding, his desires too strong in him to ever be considered tiny. Nothing could convince Vanya that Five was capable of being small.

She picked a shirt out, noticing six of them. Something settled heavy in her chest, she was almost afraid to ask. “Is one for me?”

Luther made a soft noise of confirmation, easy and without thinking about it. His head fell back again. He was dozing off there on the couch, only having needed the stillness to remind him of how tired he was.

She couldn’t help the smile, grabbing one and ducking into the other room to change into it. She kept her jeans, but at least her shirt was clean and it made her feel a hundred times better. It was too big, a little starchy, and smelled like a convenience store. But it was clean. She wasn’t about to complain, the very act of having it was a gift.

She came back, noticing Luther snoring away. The other three had yet to return, but all Vanya needed to do was focus on the far door to hear their muffled voices outside. She couldn’t make out what they were saying from across the room, and she was afraid that if she focused too hard it would break something.

She didn’t need to eavesdrop on everything. They would actually tell her now, she had to remind herself, if it was at all important. She didn’t have to sneak around and steal their words from the air to feel included anymore. 

Besides, Luther wasn’t included either, so it was probably fine.

She had a job to do, so she couldn’t be distracted by her own insecurities. She grabbed another shirt from the bag, the rubbing alcohol, and a few of the gauze packages. She made note of the fluffernutter supplies and couldn’t help the little smile that stole across her face. Not all of Five was different. He still had the sugar addiction. She wondered if he still insisted on needing it for his powers.

She banished the thought. There were more important things to worry about. She reached the door, steeled herself with a big huff of air, and knocked.

The first knock was met with silence. Nothing inside stirred and for a terrible second she wondered if he had teleported away. She turned to Luther, who was snoring softly on the couch. She wanted to ask if he knew how much juice Five was going to have but realized that waking him for that was rude.

She knocked again, pressing her ear to the door and focusing on the sounds within. She could hear him breathing inside, faint but present. She pulled back her hearing, feeling her power rattle on the door a little. She had to be careful, so careful. The world was made of glass and she was made of destruction.

She took another steadying breath, pausing. The silence twisted at her and she had to push down hard on the anxiety that clawed up her spine. It whispered that she was being  _ ignored again _ .

She knocked louder. “Five?” she called.

The knocking roused Luther, his head coming up with a snort of surprise. She passed him an apologetic look, to which he waved her off. The big guy heaved himself up to his feet and shuffled tiredly into the other room.

She let her hearing follow Luther, expanding without focusing on a point so that she could pick up  _ something _ without blowing any doors down.

The hotel was loud. The sounds of water through pipes, which kicked up from the other room, telling her Luther was taking a shower as well. Voices out on the walkway, belonging to her siblings. She could hear Klaus’s laughter. Somewhere, through a wall, a TV was blaring about a ‘used car tent show’ at some local stadium parking lot.

Through the flimsy bathroom door between her and her smallest brother, she heard the hiccups of… laughter?

It certainly wasn’t a happy noise, whatever it was, and it struck at the churning in her guts like a javelin. “Five?” She pressed against the door, trying to hear but the sound dried up into silence. Now it was just the rush of everything else again. “Five?” Fear crawling over her skin, what if he left again? “Can I come in?” She wanted to lay eyes on him, make sure he was still there, he hadn’t abandoned her-- them, hadn’t abandoned  _ them _ again. “I want to make sure you’re okay.” What if he was hurt? Why didn’t he trust them? Was this her fault? Was it that night in her apartment an entire lifetime ago? She should have just told him she believed him, because she did now, she had been so so wrong. If he left she wouldn’t be able to tell him that. If he was hurt, she’d never be able to convince him.

The silence stretched, painful and thin. Tears pricked in her eyes, a burning deep in her chest. She closed her eyes, took a breath, calmed the rattling inside her before it came out and rattled the world, too.

“Five?” She couldn’t give up now. Her instincts told her she didn’t have a right to keep going, but she mentally told them to shut up. She would listen once she had proven to herself that Five didn’t need her.

“G-give me a minute.” His voice coming through the door, although noticeably shaken, was like a divine blessing for her nerves. It was like oxygen had been injected straight into her lungs and she could breathe again.

“Okay,” she replied, happiness coloring her voice. She stepped away from the door, giving him some privacy from her ears. She waited, running her fingers absently over the shirt she was going to offer him.

A minute passed and Five said nothing. She could hear him moving around but tried not to listen too hard. Then another minute passed. She wondered if a time-traveler would have good or bad time keeping skills. Surely it would be good, at least that was what she read in every science fiction or fantasy time-travel novel she could find. Her and Ben had read a lot as kids, after Five disappeared. It gave them hope somehow. She hadn’t been able to touch them after Ben died, but maybe Five would appreciate some of the classic ones.

Half way into the third minute, Vanya lost her patience. “Hey, can I come in now?”

A second later the door opened an inch. Five stared out at her from the crack, looking frazzled and grumpy. “What?” The barrier between them, the door, felt flimsy yet insurmountable. 

She almost slunk away, intimidated. His shirt had blood on it and his skin was pale and covered in a thin layer of sweat. She stood her ground, only because she didn’t think he could for much longer.

“Are you decent?” She didn’t know how else to break the silent not-quite-a-glare he was leveling her with.

He rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Vanya?” Like she was being a burden on him.

She flinched, tried to swallow it. It still hurt. So many years of being alone and desperately wanting to belong. She wanted in, she wanted to help, she wanted to be included, confided in, trusted with secrets instead of a thief of them. She didn’t know how to say all that.

“I just--” She started, then he turned his face away from the door. Even if the door wasn’t closing she couldn’t help but feel like she was being shut out. “Hey!” She pushed against the door, pushing his boundaries when she probably shouldn’t but he looked so worn down. Maybe he would forgive her for the transgression of invading a space she wasn’t allowed in. “Wait, don't. I just want to talk.” As well as other things, but talking was easy, talking was a place to start.

“About what?” he spat, his voice rising into an almost whine she could probably attribute to his physical age.

She showed him the things in her arms as a response. It didn’t really hint at  _ talking _ persay, but it was an intention he may have understood. “Diego said you would need some ice packs.” Not that he had returned yet, still talking with Allison and Klaus on the walkway. “I came with alcohol. I just want to make sure.”

Maybe she should have been more specific. The mistrust in his eyes when he squinted at her and gave her a full body once over was painful to say the least. It broke her heart a little.

“Please, Five. We’re all going to keep bugging you until you let one of us in.”

He sighed at that, some of the hostility pulling back from his face. There was a conflict in his eyes, instead.

She had learned so much from Harlan. Harlan who couldn’t speak, who could barely emote. Harlan who was fiercely intelligent, who had things he wanted to share and say and yell about. Harlan who had more ideas than his little body could hold, who was mischievous, playful, full to bursting with life, hidden beneath a veil of disconnection.

It was weird to see that veil draped over her brother, but she could feel it, wrapping around him like a comfort blanket. Harlan had taught her how to see past it, how to read the things between the lines, the words hidden in looks and gestures and quiet sounds. Harlan had shown her how to communicate with someone who didn’t know how.

“A ridiculous notion,” he said suddenly after a pause. It didn’t seem like it was aimed at her, more at something over his shoulder, with the way his eyes flicked down and toward something she couldn’t see.

“What? What is? Us bugging you?”

“No, not you.” He sighed again, this time it felt like a great weight was settling over him. His expression changed, minutely, and if she wasn’t carefully watching she would have missed the pained look he gave the space between them. He wasn’t looking at her, she wasn’t even sure he was standing there with her, lost somewhere in his own head.

“Five, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he replied instantly, his eyes focusing on her again. It didn’t look like nothing, it looked like something big, something he didn’t want to share. Not sharing usually meant  _ something _ . Especially with Five’s track record of not sharing important details.

She raised an eyebrow at him, finding it nostalgic. “Seriously, I’m not leaving until you let me in.” In the bathroom, in his head, in his business just long enough to know that he was okay, that they were okay, and that he wasn’t going to leave (or die).

He blinked in surprise and she couldn’t help the thrill it pulled through her. It made her giddy knowing he wasn’t expecting her to stand her ground. They weren’t kids anymore, and she wasn’t going to be pushed around so easily.

He tried to glare at her, emphasis on the ‘tried’. It mostly just looked tired. It didn’t help him much when he leaned against the doorframe, resting his head on the jam. He was exhausted, she realized. Oh course he was, they all were, but this stance made it hard to ignore. “Why are you being so stubborn?” he asked, his voice taking a raspy tenor that reflected the heaviness of his lean.

She swallowed a sardonic snort, thinking he probably wouldn’t like it. “Why are  _ you _ being so stubborn,” she bounced it back at him.

“I’m not,” he answered flatly. “I just want to wash up without one of you in my business. I’m not a child, Vanya, I don’t need help bathing.” Something pulled in his voice, a condescending tone mixing harshly with something that might have been hostile if he had the energy for it. Whatever it was, she didn’t think he was quite doing it on purpose. It came out a little too languid for him, monotone but still somehow caustic.

“No,” she said. He wasn’t a child, she knew that. Occasionally it was all she saw in him, a child angry beyond reason, petulant and demanding and entitled. But then she saw the old man in his eyes sometimes. It was in the way he looked at them, like he’d been waiting a very long time to be here, and he was okay with it not being perfect. The Five she had known as a child had been obsessed with perfection, of doing everything exactly as intended, never a hair out of place or an action made in accident. The Five that came back wasn’t like that at all, rolling with their mistakes like it was a fact of life. 

The Five that came back didn’t pause and obsess over mistakes like he had as a kid. He was already moving on to the next plan, the next action before anyone else had even noticed it was a mistake to begin with. He seemed to do it with his injuries, too, forgetting about them even as they happened.

“But no one has gotten a look at you and we’re worried.”

It was his turn for an incredulous eyebrow raise. “About what?” 

_ About what? _ He wasn’t the kind to ask stupid questions on accident. “Don’t be difficult, Five.”

He didn’t react, the same question in his eyes, waiting, poised. 

Did he… really not get it? How could he not understand that he was their brother, and that worry came with the package deal. What sort of reasons did he need for them to be allowed to care?

Did he really trust them so little?

“Are you hurt?”

“No.” A lie. She could taste it in his voice.

It had to be more than mistrust. It didn’t line up. While yes, certainly some was present, that didn’t explain all this evasion. There was more to this. “Are you afraid that we’ll judge you if you are.”

He made a soft noise in his throat, like a scoff or something of disgust. His lip curled. “Shut up.”

Vanya couldn’t help the mental cheer of victory. She had found it. Five had always had a big ego, and he had always valued their opinions. It was such a stark contrast to the man who had returned to them, but then again, maybe it was all a part of his act.

Her epiphany must have shown on her face. Five recoiled, the door moving to shut, her toes be damned.

Like hell she was going to let him shut her out when she had just found a crack in his armor. Oh, she was getting in. She was going to convince his little bug brain that he was loved, and she would damned if she was going to bed without seeing to every injury on him.

The door might have sung when it opened but she didn’t care; it didn’t splinter or fly off the hinges so it was fine, she was totally in control. Five scuttled backward across the bathroom until his back was to the wall, hissing like an angry snake the whole way.

She was still high off her victory, and now standing in the bathroom with him, she could  _ feel _ how off-kilter he was. She closed the door, set down the toilet lid, and pointed at it with a stern finger. “Sit.”

He glared at her. Well, he was already glaring, but it seemed to double down at her command. She paused to take in the sight of him, feeling it sour whatever joy she felt at getting in. He looked like shit, clothes bloody and sweat stained, ruffled, torn, and mussed beyond repair. He would need new clothes, just like the rest of them. His skin was pasty pale, clammy with sweat that had his hair clinging to his forehead in a mess of strands.

He watched her, his eyes a little too bright, a little too manic for her liking. It hurt to see him like that.

“Seriously,” she soothed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He made the tiniest of unhappy noises with his tongue, looking away from her. He moved from the wall to the bathtub, perching on the rim instead of the toilet. Contrarian, sure, but she would take it.

She left the supplies on the sink and moved to stand in front of him. She paused to get a good look at him again. Her shadow fell over him, and suddenly she saw what Luther did.

He looked  _ small _ , perched on the rim, one hand twisting in his shirt and deep set discomfort radiating off him in waves. He wouldn’t look at her. It wasn’t right, it lit a fire of anxiety in her. Five was many things, and small was rarely one of them.

She crouched, maybe to alleviate the feeling it gave her, maybe to get a better look at his face. Down here, his discomfort looked like anger, disgruntled and sharp, but with none of the fire it normally had. She reached for his hand, his eyes darting to her. He pulled back, leaning away with a quiet growl.

Her hand paused mid-reach, her eyes finding his under his mop of hair. Quiet rage simmered beneath an ocean of darkness she couldn’t understand. The anger, however, she did. She could feel it echo in her own pit of tangled feelings at the base of her chest, twisting and uncomfortable and liable to suffocate her. 

The recoil, the way he was holding his shirt. The deep buried fury leaking from him, twisting in his fear and exhaustion. What had Luther said Allison had done? Pushed him? Punched him? Whatever it had been, Five wasn’t taking it well.

“Allison hurt you, huh,” she said. His eyes twitched, his scowl deepening. She was hitting on the right thing, she knew. “She didn’t mean it.”

“Shut up,” he spat, all sharp edges again.

She winced. He was off-kilter, she had an advantage, even if she didn’t quite know how to quantify it. That didn’t mean she could blaze through his barriers without some resistance. It might have been the second time he had said it, but this one hurt more.

Careful, she told herself. Fragile with sharp edges. Harlan would get like this sometimes. She just had to be patient. Reflect the calm in herself that she wanted to share with him. “Really,” she told him, reaching again for the hand tangled in his shirt protecting his chest.

He watched her, his eyes unblinking and intent on her every move. He barely breathed, holding himself rigid. Her muscles ached just to see him like that, she couldn’t imagine the strain he was feeling. He seemed too intent on her to even notice.

Her fingers found the bare skin on his hand, dragging his stiff fingers from the fabric. Hard calluses and soft skin mixing, his hand covered in blisters and scuffs and seemed so much harsher against her own delicate fingers. He resisted her pull, but didn’t recoil this time.

“She’s worried,” she meant Allison, but also herself in a way. They were all worried, the boys less good at showing it. “And you never tell us anything.”

His eyes slipped closed, smothering some of the anger beneath a weight of something else she couldn’t quite parse. “I always tell you exactly what you need to know.”

She almost laughed at the audacity of that. He hadn’t told her she was the cause of the apocalypse and that was certainly pertinent information. She knew for a fact that the others had this problem with Five, too. Somewhere in his head there was an interesting disconnect between what was and what wasn’t important information. 

She would have found it funnier if she didn’t understand why. All that time alone, he probably forgot how to talk to people. She wondered if conversations got lost in his head, like they used to for her when she would talk at the walls of her room, feeling like a ghost in her own house.

“Your injuries not included?” Keep things on track. She could nag at him about all the other times when he didn’t look like he wanted to bolt into oblivion.

He squinted at her again, half-lidded and flagging. His eyes flicked between her’s and her hand over his. He chewed on his thoughts for several seconds, his left eye twitching and his jaw clenching and unclenching. When he spoke, his voice was low with a rasp, ladening the words with a pain so deep she didn’t know what to do with it. “You’re conspiring against me.”

She blinked at him.  _ What? _ “No, no no. Five, we’re not--” Oh  _ god _ . It all made sense now! Of course, he was paranoid. Exhaustion did that to people, but Five wasn’t your normal person. Paranoia was sort of his bread and butter. “Oh.” The storm of fear in his eyes suddenly made sense. The way he kept recoiling, the way he refused to even acknowledge weakness. It hurt, broke her heart and made her want to cry for him. 

He  _ actually  _ thought they might hurt him. That was why he kept asking why, why did they care? He actually  _ needed _ an answer. God, he needed one and Vanya dismissed him again, and the others didn’t understand--  _ couldn’t _ understand. They had no frame of reference, they all trusted each other, deep down on the most basic level.

Vanya understood. She remembered what it had felt like to not be a part of the family, the idea that they could  _ care  _ for her in any capacity foreign and bizarre. It made it so hard to accept Allison's affection for what it was. But after everything that had happened, after everything that Vanya had  _ done _ . The fact that she had been forgiven had proven to her that they still loved her, no matter her mistakes. They were going to be there to help her through it. They had proven it by going with her to Sissy’s farm. They had proven it when they took her, the bomb, with them into the past. They had proven it when Ben reached for her in her prison and used his life as the key to her freedom.

How the hell was she supposed to prove all that to Five. It had taken earth shattering events to have it proven to her.

She blinked away her tears, realizing she was stroking the back of his hand mostly for her own comfort. She needed to say something, anything. “We’re not conspiring against you, Five. We’re just worried.”

His expression sank into misery and she knew she had said the wrong thing. She had no idea what the right thing was. The despair in his eyes didn’t stick around, the frown pulling at his features lessened into something distant and apathetic. It was like he left without moving.

“Five?”

He glanced down at her, blinking the haze from his eyes but it never really left. Her heart was screaming at her to do something before he actually left. She reached for him again, her fingers hesitating on his tie. She couldn’t just undress him, regardless of how distant he looked. He would never forgive her, even if it was for his benefit.

“Can I see?”

His gaze slid lazily down to where she was toying with his tie. He paused, thinking. She could practically feel his mind turning it over in his head. He sighed shakily, and she squeezed the hand she still had covered by hers. It wasn’t permission, but she didn’t think she was actually going to get any.

She stood, loosing his tie in one motion. He didn’t move until she reached to pull it off. A hand on each side of his head, he flinched from her again, in no particular direction, like he had tried to stop it but couldn’t.

It struck back at her resolve, a part of her whispering that she shouldn’t be here, she should retreat and let him be, he didn’t want her here.

He never wanted her there.

She swallowed that, buried it deep. Now was not the time. It didn’t matter what he wanted, right now she had to make sure he didn’t  _ need _ her.

When she looked down, his face had twisted to reflect the storm of things in his head. She had nothing to say, no words she hadn’t already said to him. She made a soft noise instead, soft and soothing like she would for Harlan. She reached for the tie, starting to slip it over his head. He didn’t flinch this time, she wanted to count that as a victory.

“I’m not an animal,” he snapped. The victory instantly soured in her gut.

She withdrew, taking the tie with her. “No, Five, I never said you were.” She crouched again, looming over him was probably not helping his discomfort. She gathered his hand in both of hers, beginning to trace a soft pattern across the back of it. She used to do this to ground Harlan, and she hoped it would draw back some of the distance in his eyes. His gaze fell to where she held his hand, but the abyss between them gaped uncrossable.

He didn’t react to her words, like he didn’t even hear her. She swallowed past the lump growing in her throat, focusing on him without really meaning to. She wanted him to hear her, if that meant sucking all the sound from the room, then she would do it. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like one.”

He was still staring at where her hands had caught his, watching her trace patterns on the skin beneath her thumbs. There was so much misery in him when he sighed, confusion and hurt flickering across his face.

She reached for him, wanting to sooth the confusion away with a gentle touch. It reminded her of Mom, in a painful way, the way she used to cup their cheeks when they cried to catch the tears before they fell. Five wasn’t crying, she wasn't sure if he could. When she reached across the unfathomable space between them, he recoiled from her again.

She knew he would, she tried not to let it hurt but it still did. So when he pulled away from her, she waited, poised between them. She would wait for the end of the world for him here, waiting to meet him halfway. He just had to come back to her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

His eyes flicked to hers again finally, a question staring back at her, a deep apathy pulling over his face. He straightened, slowly, so that he wasn’t leaning so far away from her. It wasn't coming back, but it was at least not retreating.

She pressed her luck, her fingers finding his skin practically burning beneath her touch. His eyes slipped closed, his expression falling blank. He didn't react otherwise, didn't flinch or recoil, didn't lean in or accept. The chasm between them ached and there was nothing she could about it.

He finally nodded, if she wasn't holding his head, she would not have seen it at all. It was permission, she realized. It actually shocked her to finally get it.

She withdrew and stood. He sighed, some of the tension leaving him. Out of energy, he looked like he was giving up. It hurt, but she couldn't deny she was relieved.

She reached for his shirt but he smacked her hand away without even opening his eyes. She paused, taken aback. Well, she  _ thought _ he had given up anyway. She supposed it couldn't have been that easy. Nothing was ever easy with Five.

He opened his eyes to level her with a look that might have been glare if he had more energy to give it, it mostly came across as a blank stare with a dash of indignation. He started to unbutton his own shirt, to her relief.

She stepped to one side, so that the light wasn’t blocked. He paused, squinting, then continued when she was still again. Vanya really couldn’t blame him for being jumpy; she was too, after everything that had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours.

She was quickly distracted by the skin he was slowly uncovering. Deep purples and yellows starting just below his collarbone, blooming from several epicenters. She swallowed hard, a sympathy pain echoing in her own chest and stomach.

Allison wouldn’t have needed to punch him to elicit a bad reaction. No wonder he was so mistrustful of them. She really  _ had _ hurt him. Or at least startled him.

“What?” he rasped, too quiet for his usual foulness, but she could hear the hint of it lingering.

She realized she had been staring at him. “Sorry,” she said automatically, but couldn’t tear her eyes away.

He looked down at himself then, the apathy in his posture giving away with a surprised jolt. He stood and crossed the bathroom, standing on his tiptoes to see his own chest and stomach. He didn’t know, she realized with another sick twist of anxiety inside her. He stood there, stock still for a long moment, taking in the sight of his reflection.

The stillness was shattered by Diego’s voice through the door. “Hey, I got the ice.” There was one heavy knock, then the knob rattled and the door was opening. Five scowled at her, then at the door, one hand coming up to quickly hold his shirt closed.

Diego barged in, no tact, all idiot. Vanya sighed. Five grabbed the closest object, a package of gauze, and threw it at their brother. It bounced off Diego’s forehead, the man giving an offended grunt.

“What was that for?”

“Don’t you knock?” Five spat, some of his fire returning. Anger was one hell of a fuel, Vanya knew. At least she could say that Five wasn’t so angry at her that she had nearly gotten him to crack. Damn Diego.

“I brought ice for you-- oh don’t bother hiding it, I already saw.”

Five made a noise in his chest, and it was only her super hearing that caught it. She could have used it to cleave the hotel in half if she had less control, for all the pain and rage hidden in such a tiny swallowed little sound.

Diego looked back to her, something else on his lips, but it died when his eyes met hers. “Uh, Vanya?”

“Please leave, Diego.”

“Yeah, I’m going, no worries. Don’t blow the building down.”

“Out,” she said, a little louder and if the lights rattled, well, it was fine.

He put the bucket on the ground like a peace offering and was out the door, closing it behind him instantly.

Vanya took a breath, willing her heart to stop pounding. She loved her brothers, but sometimes they were really clueless. She had been so close and he had to come in here and soil all her hard work.

Five laughed, a tiny sound, but it was light and honestly filled with amusement. That sucked the anger right out of her. The silver ringing in her ears softened and she felt her power recede instantly. She looked back at him, finding her heart leap at the small smile curling his lips. It was a little melancholy, but she would take it in a second.

“What?” she asked, her voice sounding small even to herself.

“Could you imagine if you had these powers when we were kids?”

She laughed a little at that, too. The thought tickled her, that she had just scared Diego into listening to her for once. It probably wouldn’t have struck her as amusing if Five didn’t find it so. She would have felt bad, intimidating anyone after she had nearly ended the world twice. But Five found it funny, so she supposed she could too.

She went for the bucket filled with ice and offered it to Five. He took it, looked at it then to her again. “What am I supposed to do with this?” It was an honest question, his usual sharpness nearly missing. It clung to the edges of him, but maybe, just  _ maybe _ she had redeemed herself by kicking Diego out.

“It’s for the bruises.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, informing her that wasn’t a good enough answer for him. 

“Well, uh, maybe I should check you first. Sorry.” She wanted to move closer but wasn’t sure if he was ready for her yet.

His eyes twitched, mouth twisting like he was thinking hard about something. Then he turned back to the mirror, letting his shirt fall open. He set the bucket down on the toilet lid to his right, using his now freed hand to trace the outline of one of the blooming bruises.

She crossed the bathroom to stand to his left, touching his elbow softly in case he hadn’t heard her approach. He didn’t flinch but his head snapped to look down at where she had touched him so she withdrew quickly. “Sorry,” she said again.

He looked at her, his thoughts still churning a storm across his face. “You don’t have anything… like this,” he gestured to himself.

She blinked, one of her hands resting over her heart. “No, not at all.” She had never even  _ seen _ bruises like that before. She lifted her shirt to expose her stomach, to prove to both of them that she was right.

“Any of the others?” His eyes bore into hers, a sense of urgency buried there that she didn’t understand.

“No one that I checked. So Allison, Luther, and Diego. Diego got Klaus but he didn’t say anything.” She couldn’t help the grimace that took her face when she looked at him.

He closed the shirt with one hand again. “You’re sure.”

“Yeah.” Her brow furrowed, unease mixing smoothly with the cocktail of anxiety already inside her. “Why?”

“Because--” he cut himself off, readjusting his stance so that his hip leaned on the sink. It didn’t look casual, it looked necessary. “It’s probably nothing.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, watching it break the half-assed attempt at a blank mask he was attempting. “Probably nothing?” She repeated back at him.

He scoffed lightly, rolling his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but then seemed to think better of it. He sighed instead, like there just wasn’t enough air in the room for him.

“You look like you got shot." Vanya said.

“I was,” he shrugged. “Several times, actually. You were shot at too, remember. We all were. It’s a fact of our lives. Welcome to the Umbrella Academy.”

“Shot  _ at _ , yeah. But these…” She reached for the hand tangled once again in his shirt. He didn’t recoil this time, much to her relief, but his hand did dart down and away before she could catch it. His shirt fell open so she went for that instead, brushing it open with one hand. She winced, taking in all the details. 

There were only four of the actual blooms, but he was covered in other bruises and scuffs too. On his lower stomach was a tangle of half-healed scabbing and haphazard stitches. His arm still had the cut from his first night home, but it was healing well at least. Other tiny cuts, some fresh and others less so. More bruises than she cared to count. “This is a lot, Five.”

He shrugged again, expression blank.

“You must be exhausted.”

He made a sharp sound that might have been a laugh, but it was entirely too sorrowful and it made her flinch and recoil from him. “You have no idea.”

She swallowed hard, clearing her throat past the lump threatening to suffocate her. His laugh still rang in her ears, settling over her skin like a buzz of electricity. She couldn’t shake it but it begged to be weaponized too, such a sound of misery. The laugh of a man who had forgotten how to cry.

She couldn’t cry for him, but god she wanted to.

“How do you want to do this?” She asked instead, not daring to cross another boundary.

“Hmm? They’re just bruises, Vanya.”

“That, too,” she pointed to the tangle of stitches on his lower abdomen.

He followed her gesture, giving it an annoyed tsk. “I’d forgotten about that,” he admitted.

“You should maybe sit down.” He wasn’t wavering on his feet, but the sink was really the only thing keeping him up and even she could see that. She didn’t want to have to catch him if his legs buckled.

He made a little noise of agreement and turned to grab the bucket again. He passed it to her wordlessly, taking a seat on the toilet lid. His leg came up to cross the other, creating a barrier she couldn’t help but notice. She bit off the sigh. He wasn’t kicking her out, he was letting her see to him. 

“I should probably check your ribs--”

“Only cracked, I’d know if something was broken.” He took a deeper breath as if checking for himself. He winced, a hand resting on his left side. “Cracked,” he rasped.

She hoped he was being honest. She grabbed the alcohol off the sink, a washcloth from the rack above the toilet and came to stand beside him again. It would be easier with a stool, but the motel was short on bathroom furniture.

The washcloth wasn’t great, scratchy and harsh, but it did the job and no one had thought to grab cotton balls at the store. She cleaned first the tangle of stitches. “Where did this one come from?” she asked, hoping it sounded casually conversational.

“Week one, shrapnel wound, initially stitched by Mom at the Academy. Reopened a few days ago, had to do a rush job to close it up.” It was like he was reading off of a script, or perhaps the manifest of his injuries filed away inside his own head. All said with an unaffected drawl monotone.

“And the bruises?”

“Oh here and there,” he said, his voice taking a false lightness. “This one,” he pointed to a fading one on his side. “Is from the Ikea Mafia, you know the guys that chased you through the corn field.”

“I remember,” she snorted.

“This one,” now he pointed at a cut on his forehead that was also attached to a bruise. “Is from Lila throwing a frying pan at me. A damned frying pan.”

“What about this one?” She pointed at one of the blooms.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Really, Five?” She asked incredulously.

He sighed heavily, it taking a groan out of him too. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She paused, glancing up at his face. He had leaned against the back of the toilet, his head resting against the bars of the rack above it, eyes closed. 

“Why did you ask if any of us had them?”

“Vanya.” There was a warning in his voice, and she heeded it. She ducked her head, stifled another apology, and moved on to the next cut. She would save it for later.

She tried starting the conversation again but Five was resistant, giving her noncommittal and sometimes completely non-verbal responses. She gave up after a while.

He stayed still for the entire thing, not a twitch or flinch or even sharp inhale when she did things she knew would sting. He didn’t react at all to her, but he wasn’t asleep, she knew. He was like a living doll, letting her administer her care in silence. It struck her as odd but she accepted the cooperation regardless.

She wanted to check his ribs, and the feeling of her entire palm on his ribcage finally elicited a response. He jerked his head up, blinking quickly against the haze in his eyes. “What…”

“It’s alright,” she reassured him, prodding softly, avoiding bruises.

He scowled but let her, and when she pulled back, he snapped, “Happy?”

He'd been telling the truth before. Nothing felt out of place. Not happy, but satisfied at least. “Sit up, please.”

He did so without another comment, still scowling.

“I’m going to check your head for injuries.” She showed him her hands, she didn’t want him flinching away from her, so it was best to at least give him warning before grabbing his head.

He squinted at her, unsure, then shrugged. He bowed his head, and she dug her fingers through his hair. She searched his scalp, finding a few spots of dried blood near his temple and behind his ears.

“It's not mine,” he informed her when she couldn’t find the source.

She paused in her search. “Oh?” How the hell had he gotten someone else’s blood in his hair? And when?

“Yeah,” was all he said at first. He looked up after the pause dragged for several moments, resisting her hands still in his hair. “You know everyone that I’ve killed, I’ve done it to get back home.” 

She hadn't wanted to come to that conclusion about the blood, but she knew better. They had all killed people. She had killed people, lots of people.

She looked down to meet his eyes, finding a quiet vulnerability staring back at her. He was asking her something with his eyes but she couldn’t parse what. When she didn’t say anything, he kept going instead. “I did it to get back to my family.”

It struck her suddenly, why he was telling her that. It felt significant to actually hear him say it. He was telling her because he felt bad for the blood she found in his hair.

She sighed, the words dying in her throat. Five didn’t know what to do with her reaction, either. The blank mask sliding back as he bowed his head away from her again.

“Everything you do is for us.” It was a question, it was a statement, it was a resounding truth without ever needing confirmation. She knew it, hated that she had known the whole time, and yet only really believed it now. “Jesus, Five.”

He wasn’t breathing, she realized with a jolt. He was holding his breath, holding it for her, waiting for her to do something. She wondered what he was expecting. Vanya swallowed the disgust-- not at him, but the blood that wasn’t his, and started to scratch softly in his hair.

He made a soft sound, half an exhale of surprise, half a pleased little noise strangled in his throat. She felt her lips twitch in a smile. Five was prickly at the best of times, but no one could say a scalp-scratch wasn’t the most exquisite of sensations.

Besides, he was probably so starved for touch, Vanya didn’t even want to think about it too much. It invaded her mind anyway, imagining her brother spending his entire life alone, imagining Luther cramped into a tiny moonbase, Diego taking on the world alone, Allison isolated in her swatch of fame and fans, Klaus in a drug house somewhere lost between realities, Ben forever missing from their lives. Her family, lost and scattered.

But they weren’t anymore. They were together, finally. And they stayed that way because of Five. He was the glue, ironically.

Vanya draped her arms around him, pulling his head against her. He stiffened instantly, taking a sharp breath. “What are you doing?”

“It’s called a hug, Five,” she whispered into his hair.

He grunted. “I meant what are  _ you _ \--” she squeezed, his voice rose and broke and fell silent. He never relaxed, but he didn’t question her again, and he didn’t resist.

When she let him go, he looked irritated but not particularly mad about it. “Sorry,” she said, swiping a stray tear off her own cheek.

He scrutinized her. “You okay?”

She nodded with a tiny laugh. “Yeah, I’m just glad you’re here.”

He looked stricken but quickly wiped it off his face. He might have had something to say, but he didn’t verbalize it, watching her instead.

“Well, you’re all set.” She gave his forehead a quick check. He had felt feverish earlier when she’d first touched his face, and it was hard to ignore between the hug and the fingers in his hair. She couldn’t be sure without a thermometer to check. It was low grade, anyway. She pulled back after a second or two. “You feel cold?”

His mouth twisted a little. “No,” he lied. “Yes,” he corrected a second later.

“You have a fever.”

“I know,” he said flatly.

“Don’t crank the heat on the water too much, or you’ll make it worse. You should ice your bruises, too.” She glanced at the bucket, which had mostly melted by now. “I’ll find some bags to make ice packs and have them for you when you get out.”

He said nothing, watching her quickly wash her hands then move across the bathroom, gathering the supplies she had brought for him. She hadn’t needed the gauze, at least. The tangle of stitching had been ugly but efficient, so she wasn’t going to touch it. The cut on his arm didn’t need it anymore, and nothing else was that big. He was just beaten to bruising, which wasn’t much better but she would take it over him bleeding out.

“I’ll make you something to eat.” She moved to the door.

“There should be stuff for sandwiches,” he said. “And uh, Vanya?” She turned back to him when he called. “Thanks.” He wasn’t looking at her, but his voice was soft with honest appreciation. It bloomed a happy warmth in her chest.

“No problem,” she smiled, feeling it take over her whole face.

She slipped out the door, hearing the shower start behind her before it was even closed. Instantly, every pair of eyes in the room was on her. She froze, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights.

“She survived, yay!” Klaus cheered from his bed. 

Diego was beside him, his leg up on a pillow and an ice pack of his own on top. “You were in there a long time.”

“Your ankle okay?” she asked instead of answering.

Diego glanced at it. “Yeah, it's fine, it just started to hurt. Did it go well?”

She smiled, her triumph leaking onto her face unbidden. “Yeah, he’s okay. Bruised up real bad, but nothing that won’t heal on its own.”

“He let you?” Luther asked, standing in the connecting door. She hadn’t heard him appear, which was a surprise considering his size.

“Yeah, it took a little, you almost screwed me over, Diego.” She threw a playful glare in his direction. Diego, to his credit, looked sheepish, but said nothing.

“Did he say anything about me?” Allison asked.

Vanya shook her head. “You threw him off, Allison. I’m not even sure he’s mad. He um, he has a fever, but it's low, probably just from all the stress.”

Allison snorted, Diego made a similar noise from his place in the room. Luther heaved a big sigh. Klaus was the only one without a noise to make, he lay back onto his pillows giving the ceiling a hollowed out look. Vanya sighed, too, feeling her own stress weigh on her, like a steady pinch in the back of her head.

“I’m going to bed,” Luther said, turning back and disappearing into the other room again. She heard the king bed groan under his weight but gave it no more thought.

Allison nodded, making a noise of agreement to the empty door. She stood from the couch. She had showered at some point, and was wearing one of the white shirts. She crawled under the blankets of the remaining unoccupied bed. “You coming Vanya?” She gestured to the other half of the bed.

“In a bit. Where’s the sandwich stuff?” 

Allison pointed to a table across the room. Vanya quickly made a fluffernutter sandwich, feeling the nostalgia of it tickle at the happy glow in her chest. She tiptoed into the king room and left it where Five would see it. Diego had gotten fresh ice for his ankle, as well as bags and rags to wrap them in. She made one up and set it beside the sandwich.

She settled in beside Allison once all that was done. Luther was already asleep in the other room, Klaus and Diego spooned on one of the queen beds. Allison had fallen asleep reading a newspaper, her head having fallen to the pillow, her hair a wild mess across it. Vanya smiled at her siblings, feeling the warmth leak into every corner of her body.

She laid down, intending to stay awake to see Five emerge from the bathroom, but sleep claimed her quick.

She woke with a jolt sometime later. Allison’s hands brushed her’s, her sister’s voice laden with sleep murmuring something incoherent but comforting.

She blinked away the tears, and the distant dream-memory of her family having their lives sucked from them. It was fading quickly, but the sick feeling it blanketed her with lingered. She looked around the room, finding total darkness but hearing the sounds of sleep all around her.

She squinted into the darkness where the bathroom was, making out the door open and the inside empty. Allison rolled over beside her, shifting the bed as she moved. Vanya roused herself, feeling the nightmare still clinging even as the images drained away. She could hear Klaus murmur and Diego grunt in his sleep. That was everyone but two and she needed to make sure all of them were there. It was silly, but she wouldn’t sleep again until she did.

She slipped from under the covers, tiptoed across the space between the bed and the connecting door and snuck into the other room. She could hear Luther snoring, could see his massive outline in the bed with the tiny light coming in through the window.

Five wasn’t in the bed. Luther had taken the whole space, spread-eagle across it. She glanced to where she had left his sandwich, finding the little paper plate and ice pack missing. One of the blankets was missing off the bed too, but Luther seemed hardly bothered.

She almost didn't spot Five in the darkness, curled up in one of the chairs in the back of the room, swaddled in a blanket so he was nearly lost in the pile of fabric. She approached his chair, quiet and careful not to wake him. The plate was on the table closest to him, empty of everything but a few stray breadcrumbs.

He was curled away from her, buried in the fabric where she couldn’t really see him. She could hear him though, his soft breathing evened out in sleep from somewhere within the blanket.

She smiled, feeling the sounds of her family asleep all around her wash away the last of the anxiety clinging to her. She trudged silently back to her bed, curling up against Allison’s back and falling into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vanya's POV came super easy because I relate super hard. I also find it ironic that the child that likely snuck around eavesdropping on everyone in the house, ends up with the sound based powers. Like talk about weaponizing whispers, that shit is just too perfect not to mention.
> 
> Also, Five sleeps! Oh, but we're not done. Nooooo, no no no. There's still so much left to talk about. :)
> 
> P.S. Thank you for all the comments on the last chapter, it was overwhelming but honestly so nice and I was just very happy thank you thank you. I'm not very good at answering comments or taking compliments gracefully but I appreciate every single one of you to the very depths of my heart.
> 
> And space wife? I love you too, thank you for supporting me. <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luther takes a swing, and it almost works.
> 
> Five has an emotion. Or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With special guest, Ace Five :)

Five tried to follow Vanya's advice about the water temperature. Really, he did, starting off with a lukewarm shower that had him trembling far worse than anything he could control. His reactions were shot, like the filter in his brain had finally given up and now everything was coming out.

He couldn’t stop shivering, the bone chill wouldn’t leave him. So he pushed the temperature up and up and up until it finally eased the shaking in his limbs and he could grasp at some illusion of control. He laid in the bottom of the tub until the water finally stopped swirling in pinks and reds as it ran off him and down the drain. He nearly fell asleep, letting the inky lethargy drown him under the numbing spray of hot water.

It was with great effort he pulled himself up enough to push the water off. The chill raced in the second it was gone and Five was shivering again instantly. Teeth clenched, shoulders hunched, skin feeling raw and gritty, he dried off and pulled on the shirt Vanya left for him and his shorts. He was glad he didn’t need to mess with the buttons of his other shirt or worry about cleaning it. The pads of his fingers felt numb, the edges of him too shaken to be useful.

He needed to sleep. He needed to eat.

So finding the sandwich waiting for him was a blessing. Oh, Vanya. Sweet, thoughtful Vanya. Officially the best sister, though she had claimed the title of favorite sister long ago. Not like she had competition.

( _Allison means well,_ ) Delores chided him gently. Her murmuring had gotten louder in the shower, and now she was impossible to ignore. It was almost as if she was there, hiding in the room somewhere.

“I know,” he whispered, careful not to disturb Luther who had taken the entire king bed.

( _You’re still mad._ )

He wasn’t really, not at her specifically. He was a little miffed at all of them, but mostly just sore. He finally understood a little more about Allison’s reasons, after he had seen his own bruises. Diego, barging in like the tactless idiot he was, telling him he had already seen them had confirmed everything Five needed to know. He had been unconscious for some of the walk home, and he supposed it was understandable for his family to do a spot check to make sure he wasn’t dying. Wouldn’t have been the first time he neglected to tell them he was injured. It probably wouldn’t be the last time either, considering their track record for making a giant deal out of inconsequential things.

It explained why some of his buttons were a little loose on their fastens and others were missing all together. It explained Allison’s actions, even if that didn’t really make him feel any better about it. They had snuck a peak, and it spiked a curious cocktail of feelings inside him. Indignant rage at the trespass, a deep set shame and embarrassment he couldn’t explain yet, and maybe just a sprinkle of appreciation that made it all hard to process.

( _Allison was trying to help._ )

Well, she had a terrible way of showing it. 

( _And you usually respond to everything with anger and impatience too, so you’re not one to judge.)_ Delores snapped, her tone finding some irritation that rubbed against the rawness inside him. Five said nothing in response, turning his focus to the food in his hands, deciding he didn’t want to think about Allison or what he’d said to her. 

He ate the sandwich a bit too quick, the softness of the bread sticking to the roof of his mouth, the peanut butter nearly clogging in his throat. He didn’t care, the combined sweet and savory taste was heavenly, washing over all of his senses in a wave of feral hunger that had him gulping the thing down in a handful of bites.

He grabbed the icepack on the table, though now it was mostly water in a plastic bag wrapped in a washcloth. It was exactly what Five needed. His cheeks still full of food, stuck in his throat, lumping hard and painful at the top of his chest, he ripped the washcloth away and punctured the bag with his teeth. The water helped, washing down the food and letting him swallow properly around the dryness in his mouth.

He was grateful no one was awake to witness him devouring the sandwich like he hadn’t eaten in days. He considered making another one as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, licking his fingers. ( _You’ll make yourself sick if you eat too much. Don’t get greedy.)_ That was a good point. The bag and washcloth found themselves in a waste bin and he discarded the plate on a corner table, sizing up the chair next to it as a possible prospect for sleeping in.

Five knew he could sleep without a blanket, but he wanted one. He was still cold, his body still fighting tiny shivers and shakes. The food was already helping, solidifying something unstable inside him in a rush of sugar and satiation. But it hadn't been enough.

He stole the comforter off the floor where Luther had kicked it from the bed, absently wrapping it around his shoulders. He eyed his brother for a minute, contemplating the space left between his arm and the edge. 

( _It’ll be warm,_ ) Delores told him gently.

He tried to imagine himself lying next to Luther, felt the anxiety of it crawl up his skin, like the lingering feeling of Vanya’s fingers in his hair. It wracked his body with a shudder that wasn’t from the cold.

One of his own hands was in his hair the next second, trying to wash away the memory. It had been a pleasant sensation he would admit, but overwhelmingly so. It blanked his mind out and left him feeling bare and raw. Then she had followed it up by draping her whole weight against him and squeezing like she was afraid he would disappear. 

The double shot of physical affection was a bit too much for him. Combined with Luther carrying him, Allison's hug from earlier (that now felt like days ago), his siblings hands on his shoulders as they prepared for another time jump… and all the others, all the tiny inconsequential touches and brushes that Five _tried_ to ignore.

It all came rushing at him suddenly, prickling over his skin with the feeling of a dozen phantom-memory sensations. It was too much. The blanket wrapped tighter, squeezing himself in an attempt to keep it all contained. His thoughts were gripped in a vice, frozen yet rushing incoherent for a frame between seconds.

It was more than sensations, it was the feelings they were attached to that came too. How much _trust_ it took for him to let Luther carry him, because he _did_ trust Luther. 

The softness of Allison when she had pulled him against her like she was going to drown without him, like she _needed_ him, only for him to turn around mere hours later and throw piss and vinegar in her face. The way her hand had pressed into his chest, igniting fire and agony inside him and his brain screamed that she was the enemy. He knew she wasn’t, he knew he had just overreacted, that she was misguided by her temper and her impatience and really her and Five weren’t so different. He probably would have done the same thing if they were being as stubborn as he was.

And why be so stubborn? What was the tactical reasoning? There was none, Five was just… he just… freaked out sometimes, he wasn’t as strong or as put together as he pretended for them, not as solid as he tried to pretend for himself.

Delores was the only who had known.

But now Vanya might, the way her sad eyes looked into his, the way she saw him and touched him and _cared_ for him. She had left space in her heart for him, and she left space in her mind, and she _knew._

 _Everything you do is for us,_ like it was something she hadn’t thought of before, like it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. Like the rest of them just _didn’t realize_ how much they meant to him. How much he’d done for them.

They weren't supposed to know, they weren't supposed to _care._

The hands in his hair, the exquisite sensation of _someone_ touching him gently and kindly. It closed up his throat, made it hard to breathe. The way she draped over him, her arms squeezing him like she was trying to keep him together, like she wanted him to draw strength from her.

He couldn’t breathe. There was nothing to fight, nowhere to run, so he froze, paralyzed.

( _Five, darling. You’re having a panic attack._ )

Her voice was a distraction, tearing through the hot tumult his thoughts had taken. He took a breath, winced at how loud and sharp it was. Luther didn’t stir so he took another, then another. The grip on his thoughts loosened, the prickling began to fade. His painful hold on the blanket slacked just enough so his fingers stopped burning with the strain.

For a long time, he focused on his breathing until it was quiet and normal and didn't sound like he had just run a marathon.

( _Panic attack,_ ) Delores said again, her voice still gentle but now with an almost expectant air.

Five balked at her, he didn't get _panic attacks_ , that was absurd of her to say. Besides, this one had been small, miniscule, briefer than a minute. It was just a rush of thoughts and sensations he couldn’t control and sometimes it made him teleport without thinking or occasionally murder people he didn’t mean to (which hadn’t happened in a while, thank you very much). Mild freak out, he had it under control. He was _fine_.

( _At least_ _three ‘mild freak outs’ in one day. And this time you froze like a possum._ )

She could be so blunt sometimes. She was worse when he was tired like this, probably because she was tired, too. Tired of him being… well, stubborn. She would get a little naggish, and started giving a voice to the quiet parts.

( _Oh please,_ ) she snapped, her voice loud. ( _The ‘quiet parts’ my ass! You’re at the end of your rope, you have been for_ **_days_ ** _now, and it’s starting to catch up. You can’t control yourself, your body is about to shut down on you, and now it’s all even worse because your feathers are ruffled by the mere_ **_idea_ ** _that your family could take an interest in caring for you._ )

That… had been a lot of words for someone who wasn’t even there. He found himself looking around for her, trying to let what she said glance off of him.

( _Don’t ignore me._ ) 

He wouldn’t even dream of it. 

( _You had your siblings show you a bit of kindness and now you can’t ignore the way it made you feel._ )

He huffed, wrapping the blanket tighter again. How could she even say that? He wasn’t ignoring his feelings… Well, okay he was, but that was pretty par for the course with him. Feelings were inconsequential most of the time, and he knew he couldn’t avoid them. But they got in the way. A lot. 

And maybe Delores was right, he was tired, muddled. He felt fragmented and asymmetric, his control thin and his filters all in the wrong places. So yeah, he supposed he was feeling some things he hadn’t in a while. Things he could usually shove down and ignore, but not… right now.

He might have felt some things about Luther carrying him all that distance, or how he’d let him sleep in his arms like that. It was the second time Luther had carried him, and he knew the big idiot probably didn’t care that much, but it meant something to Five. To be able to trust him like that, that Luther would keep him safe. It was why he had chosen him to be his spotter. Sure he was the only one there, and yeah Luther had thrown him off a balcony at one point, but he had Five’s back. He always had his back.

And Five most definitely felt some things about all the hugs he had received today. He realized it was only two, but that was a lot considering his track record up to that point. One of them was clearly not for his comfort, mostly for Allison, so he could almost think about that one and not feel it spread a warmth in his chest that helped alleviate some of the ache. It was how soft and warm she had been that really got to him, anyway. Real people had that quality, but some childish part of him insisted that physical affection from his family was _different_ than anything he’d been trained to accept in the Commission

He didn’t want to think about Vanya again. His throat threatened to constrict at the mere thought. Vanya, who was patient and knowing, and who observed far more than anyone else… Vanya, who made him feel like a human being.

Delores chuckled at the warmth his thoughts had taken, for once pleasant. ( _You missed them so much_.)

He scoffed, having clearly forgotten himself, letting his mind wander off into childish fancies. _Of course_ he had missed them. Every day of his goddamn life, he had missed them. That didn’t mean he could afford to get sappy like Delores was trying to encourage him to be. 

Vanya had a way of making him feel soft and malleable. Combined with the lifting of two weeks of impending-doom stress, and finally, _finally_ having them all here and safe. And now with Delores nagging away at the last of his barriers, Five was feeling a bit sentimental in his exhaustion.

It was time he stopped staring at Luther and went to bed, before his wife brought up something else for him to think about and have feelings over. He shuffled back to the armchair in the corner, finding it to be a suitable place as any.

He sprawled out across the chair, smothered in the comforter. The moment he let his body relax into the cushion of the chair, the blanket wrapping around him, he felt exhaustion lay out over the top of him and he was swallowed by sleep.

-

He dreamed. At first they were mostly of the wasteland, sometimes of the void. They were not the same vivid dreams he had had when Luther carried him. These were not cohesive, they stretching off languid and slurred into odd distortions of nothing.

The worst ones came later, painfully surreal visions of himself and his siblings. Luther isolated and alone, wrapped in a plastic casing like a toy Five couldn’t get out of the box. And Luther just stared at him with vacant eyes that asked _why couldn’t Five free him? Why had he let this happen?_

Allison kept gasping for air, her hand around her throat, gaping like a fish out of water. Her eyes burned with rage and hatred and she screamed silent condemnation at him that singed his skin. _Your fault, your fault, your fault!_

Diego wouldn’t look at him, his back always turned, and no matter how much Five tried to find his face, he couldn’t. Finally, buried in a pile of rubble where he couldn’t turn and twist away, Five found him with his face wiped clean like a blank mask of dead flesh.

Klaus walked through him like a ghost. Or rather, Five was the ghost but not even Klaus could see him or hear him. Five wanted to scream at them to _listen,_ that he was right there, but his mouth was sewn shut with steel cables and Klaus wouldn’t look at him, his eyes passing right through him.

Vanya would stand beside him, lay a gentle kiss on his forehead that would burn and bleed and weep. When Five looked at her, she was covered in the blood, it pooled around her legs, swept her away from him and swallowed her without a sound or a scream. No matter how hard Five fought against the tide of sticky red, he could never reach her before she drowned.

The second time he woke from the vision of Vanya slipping under the surface was when he decided he wasn’t going to sleep anymore. He couldn't stand seeing them like that anymore.

An unease was beginning to settle in his stomach and Delores was being suspiciously quiet. It was nearing 4am, the clock on the bedside table told him in angry red numbers. Five was sore, his shoulders and ribs twinging and crying with every move, a persistent steady ache that was distracting and annoying.

More annoying was the lethargy that still clung to him. He felt heavy, and like he could sleep another whole day if it weren’t for the nightmares. He knew he wouldn’t, knew he would just lay there, curled in the chair, uncomfortable and generally not sleeping.

So he gave up trying.

At least his head was clearer this morning. No more sappy emotions for him, or weird feelings over being _hugged_. Nope, he had gotten all that out last night, and now things were under control. No more freak outs. That all got shoved into a tiny box, neat and tidy, and was probably why Delores had taken to silence.

Luther was still snoring steadily away on the king bed, and Five had to admit he envied his brother’s heavy sleeping. He wondered, very briefly, while waiting for the instant coffee maker to heat the water, what Luther could be dreaming about. He hoped it was pleasant, whatever it may be.

(He hoped it wasn’t visions of Luther wrapped in space-grade plastic like Five kept seeing.)

The coffee maker dinged, and Luther snorted awake at the sound. He’d been laying on his stomach with only a cover sheet over him. He rose up on his arms, looking around, the silhouette of his head turning back and forth trying to see in the darkness.

“Five?” He whispered-hissed. “Is that you?”

“Go back to sleep, Luther,” Five kept his voice low, barely above a whisper himself. “Everything’s alright,” he added because Luther was looking a little alarmed.

“Why are you awake?” Luther’s head had swiveled in Five’s direction and he could almost see his brother trying to squint at him in the darkness.

“It’s morning.”

Luther huffed, flopped back to the bed with a groan that Five felt echoed in his own exhaustion. He wasn’t the only one that felt like he could sleep forever. Luther was still for a long moment as Five dumped the instant coffee powder into the steaming water, and he figured he might have fallen back to sleep, or was close to it, when Luther spoke again. “It’s 4am.”

It was a little after midnight when Five had curled up in the chair the first time. Four hours was actually a decent chunk for him to sleep. Luther and the others would surely need more than that, however. “Go back to sleep, then.”

He rolled himself over so he could sit up and put his feet on the ground, his silhouette in the weak light from the window a great big shadow over the bed. So much for that, then. And so much for a quiet morning of solitude that Five may or may not have been looking forward to (because he wasn’t really alone if they were all around him sleeping).

Five set the coffee maker to heat more water for Luther as the light behind him flicked on, bathing the room in warm yellows. He turned, leaning his back on the counter, sipping his coffee. He pulled a face at the taste (watery and over processed…), and decided to just down it like a nasty shot. It burned a little on the way down, but the heat felt good on his sore throat.

The empty cup crumpled in his hand and found itself in a waste bin a second later, Five grimacing at the taste. Luther was scrubbing the sleep from his face, taking his time with it, particularly in the way he scratched his own scalpe.

And that damn memory of Vanya with her fingers in his hair was back and with it a quiet, tiny, _insistent_ little desire to feel the real thing again. Damn Vanya, and damn all of them for their touchiness, and damn him for wanting it and not knowing how to handle it.

The coffee maker dinged, jolting Five from his thoughts. Luther looked up, his eyes nearly cleared of sleep, but still with heavy bags underneath. Five took him his coffee, setting it down on the table next to him and going to the connecting door to close it so they wouldn’t disturb the others. They all deserved as much sleep as they could afford, and Five had already ruined Luther’s morning. He was trying not to ruin the others’ mornings either.

Luther sipped his coffee, Five could feel him watching him. He moved across the room on silent footsteps, from the door back to the coffee maker. He already regretted destroying the cup and tossing it. He set the coffee maker to heat more water anyway. Luther might want another.

His brother cleared his throat after a minute, drawing Five’s gaze to him. He was still watching him over the lid of his cup, something pensive drawing his brow together. Five wanted to ask him why he was staring, snap a ‘what’ at him so he would knock it off, but his voice wasn’t working, so he stared back like an idiot.

“C’mere.” Luther waved him over. Something in the way he said it, the gentle way the tone shaped the words and curled around Five struck at the unease in his gut.

But this was Luther, and he had nothing to fear. He could (maybe probably) handle their touchiness this morning, he could ignore it and not think about it, and he would be _fine_. Fine, fine, fine.

He walked over, standing just out of reach, his arms crossed over his chest. He wanted to ask, wanted to know why Luther was still just _watching_ him, and not saying anything. But he didn’t, his mouth dry and disconnected.

They paused to have their ridiculous staring contest until the coffee maker dinged a third time. “You want more coffee?” Five finally found his voice, it coming out a little raspier than he intended, a little too thick for his liking.

Luther tilted his head to one side, set the coffee cup down on the table again. His body language said something Five couldn’t read, legs slightly open, arms at his side, his expression bare and openly questioning.

“What?” he finally asked.

“Come here.”

“I did.”

Luther huffed, something painful moving across his face that threatened to break Five in half. Luther shook his head and finally broke eye contact. After a second he beckoned again, waving Five closer.

“No.”

That shocked them both. Five wasn’t expecting it to slip out so crudely, so full of the unease that was twisting inside him and becoming so hard to ignore. He wasn’t going to freak out again, he wasn’t, and it was easier to keep that promise to himself if they kept their distance. At least until he had better control. (And when would that be, asked a distant part.)

Luther’s eyes widened just a little, his mouth pulling into a little frown. “Five,” he said, breathed it like it hurt.

Five swallowed, considered moving away, considered moving closer. He did neither, paralyzed by this stupid… whatever it was, aversion-desire, into doing absolutely nothing expect standing there staring at his brother like all his braincells had been stolen.

They watched each other again for a long moment before Luther broke the silence. “That shirt is really big on you.”

It had slipped off one shoulder and Five hadn’t bothered to fix it. He knew he looked ridiculously small in it, but everyone was small to Luther, so that couldn’t have been the only reason he was acting so weird.

Five scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Everything is big on me,” he said bitterly.

Luther winced a little. “Yeah.” Silence reigned between them again as Luther looked down at his hands. “Do you ever feel…” he trailed off, squinting at whatever word he wanted to use. “I don’t know, wrong?” One of his big hands came to rest over the collar of his shirt, his gaze coming up to regard Five again.

Five had no idea what he meant, tilting his head and conveying the confusion on his face.

“You know,” Luther gestured to him. “Your body? Does it feel wrong?”

Five blinked, surprised at that. He supposed Luther would understand some distinct brand of dysphoria, being stuck in a body that was not the right size, that left him feeling sick if he looked at his reflection a little too long. The feeling of _wrongness_ in everything from the smoothness of his skin to the delicacy of his own hands. He looked down at them without meaning to, examining the scarless skin, the new blisters forming, the scuffs and bruises from all the fighting.

“Yes,” he answered after a long minute. “I suppose so.” Five at least had the benefit of familiarity with this body, not something he imagined his brother had.

“Me too.” Luther said, nearly a whisper. He was looking at his hands like Five, turning them over and back in front of him as if seeing them for the first time. “Sometimes I wonder if anyone would want to… You know ‘cause I have all this-- uh fur.”

Right. 

Five didn’t like talking about sexual intimacy. It wasn’t something he had any personal interest in. Platonic touching was hard enough, thank you very much. It was something he refrained from participating in even in the Commission, though the Handler seemed to make a point of leaving that door open for him.

He never took it, never wanted to. Never regretted it, either.

“Didn’t Klaus say you had a fling with some girl from a club?” He had a vague recollection of Allison finding that very offensive, but Five hadn’t been that invested in their spat because the world was about to end and they could have their drama _after._

Luther immediately flushed, looking up at Five like he had just struck a very sensitive chord. “No!”

“Shhh,” Five hissed at him. “The others…” he reminded his brother.

“Oh right,” Luther’s shoulder’s hunched, his gaze darting past Five to the connecting door. “Sorry.” They both paused for a second, listening for sounds from the other room. Luther spoke after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t mean-- you know, _sex_." He said it like it was a bad word.

Five snorted. Luther was still a prude, and he found that amusing. Some things never changed. “What did you mean, then?”

Luther was looking down at his hands again, something heavy and sad drawing over his face. His shoulders dropped, and he sighed like the air had weight. It stung at something in Five, and he knew then that this wasn’t something stupid that Luther was having an issue with. This was something very important to his brother, so Five had better listen up.

He bit the inside of his cheek and made a decision he knew he was likely to regret. He closed the distance he had made sure to keep between them, stepping over his own boundaries to be closer to Luther. He rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Luther jolted under the touch in a way that Five viscerally understood. His brother looked up at him, a look of utter devastation on his face with just the barest sprinkles of hope. Luther exhaled a little shakily, sucking in another breath through his teeth. Five waited for him, watched his eyes rove all over him like he was seeing him for the first time.

Luther reached back, one hand circling around the arm still at Five’s side, finding the bare skin above his umbrella tattoo. He didn’t react, let Luther press his fingers into his arm as if cautiously checking how solid he was.

Then his brother huffed a laugh that could have been a sob if it didn’t sound so tired. “I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming,” he said quietly, his voice thick and heavy in a way that made Five’s insides twist. 

Five struggled for words, had no idea where to even start, but he understood the unreality that dreams could create in the predawn hours. “You’re not.”

Luther nodded almost absently, the hand on Five’s arms drifted down, his thumb pressing into the tattoo. “I keep having these dreams that I’m on the moon, but you’re all there with me, and none of you will get near me. None of you want--” he sucked in a sharp breath, his head dipping sharply down so that Five only caught the very beginning of the pain that twisted his expression.

Five dug his fingers into his shoulder, reminding Luther that he was there, he wasn’t on the moon. A frown etched his face, his throat burned. He wished he could have protected Luther. He would have never let Dad send him to the moon or turn him into another one of his twisted experiments.

Luther looked up suddenly, his eyes bright with not-quite tears. “How do you do it?”

Five’s head tilted in question, his eyes squinting.

Luther’s eyes went to where his own hand was around Five’s arm, then he glanced at the arm Five had outstretched toward him. “How did you…?” He shook his head, like the words weren’t cooperating.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You spent all that time alone, there was no one else around?”

“Luther, don’t--” Don't make this about him.

“This,” he pulled on Five’s arm, just enough to bring attention to his hand wrapped around it. “I spent four years alone, Five. There wasn’t a single other human being around.” Luther’s eyes bore into his, the placid blue shining with unshed tears and an unspeakable pain that Five felt echoed in himself. The gulf of loneliness, the emptiness, the inhumanity.

“I know,” his voice sounded small, even to himself. He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. 

“I never…” Luther’s voice trailed away, becoming impossibly quiet for someone as big as he. “I never thought I would… _crave_ something like this. Reaching out for another person and having them be there.” He sighed, heaved it out of himself like a balloon deflating. Luther’s shoulders drooped forward, his head ducking down to hide his face. “That’s always the nightmare, I reach out and you guys aren’t there, or you move away, or I just pass right through you.” His voice low and thick, barely above a whisper. It would have been lost if Five wasn’t standing so close.

Five swallowed hard again, finding it becoming more and more difficult. This wasn’t exactly how he wanted to start his morning, and he had definitely bit off more than he could chew. But he didn’t regret stepping up and putting himself in arm’s reach. Luther needed that, and Five understood those types of nightmares. The ones that bled into reality and incited the worst things in his head.

How many times had he dreamed of them, out in the wasteland, standing just out of reach. Standing just where he couldn’t quite reach them and no matter how much he cried and shouted and _pleaded_ with them, they would never come closer. His skin would hunger for even the barest of proofs that they were real, and they would never give it to him. They weren’t real, they were nightmares that haunted him well into his waking hours.

He gave Luther’s shoulder a pat, reminding him that Five wasn’t a dream that would slip away. For once, they were all real, and they were all (for the most part) together again. And if Luther needed to squeeze Five’s arm and have a hand on his shoulder, then Five was going to obliged him. That was what big brothers did, and he could never deny Luther this.

Luther snorted a laugh that sounded a little wet. “Sorry,” he muttered, his head still bowed. “I know this isn’t exactly your thing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he gave Luther’s shoulder a squeeze. “I owed you anyway.”

Luther let his arm go, using that hand to wipe his face. “For what?”

A lot of things. Things he had no way of explaining to Luther. Things that had meant a lot to him but he wasn’t ready to admit to caring about. And things that Luther _should_ know about. “You saved my life the other day. With my other self. You kept me on track.”

Luther blinked at him. “Really? I thought I screwed that up?”

“No,” Five sighed, letting his other arm fall back to his side so there was nothing connecting them anymore. “I fucked up. And I probably should have given you more warning when it came to dealing with-- mmm, myself.”

Luther snorted again, this time the laugh a little more genuine if a bit sardonic. “You _are_ a lot to handle.”

Amazing then, that they had had so much patience with him up to now. His chest hurt, a frown pulled at him, a burning ache reaching all the way down his arms and into his fingers. Like the itch to teleport away without the spark of ozone. “ Well, it’s not forever, just until I figure out how to get you home.” His voice might have shook, the touch of anger easily covering the hurt. 

Such a stupid thing to be upset about. A simple truth that he had already known. It was different when it was said out loud. Ah well, he supposed this was how Allison felt. Different to have it confirmed that others could see some of the horrible shit he saw in himself.

Something crossed Luther’s face. Confusion, something dark sprinkled in, a terrible sadness. For a second Five thought he had said something wrong, and was about to double back on himself when Luther beat him to the punch.

“What do you mean, not forever? Are you going to leave us again?”

“No,” he wouldn’t. Never again. They may or may not want him around and he wasn’t so naive as to not have a back up plan in case they didn’t. “I’ll always be around.” _Maybe j_ _ust not where you'll have to deal with me_.

“Five,” Luther was reaching for him again, something pained in the way he looked at him, the way his voice strained over his name. “I was joking, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Mmm, whatever.” He shrugged, his chest tight, the bruises stinging and burning under his skin.

“You’re a lot to handle, but that doesn’t mean we don’t want you here with us.”

He scoffed, finding it came out a little painful, his throat closing up. He stepped away from Luther’s reach, feeling the edges of himself wobble in that way that wasn’t a ‘freakout’ but predicated them sometimes. He needed to keep himself together. He didn’t think he had a teleport in him in case things got bad again, and the last thing he needed was to have Luther see him lose his mind over an onrush of _feelings_. “Don’t even start.” Besides, this wasn’t about him, this was about Luther and his nightmares. He didn’t want to make this about him.

“Five.” Except Luther kept saying his name like it was a source of pain. The big idiot stood, chasing him as he retreated, matching step for step. “Wait, hold on. Talk to me.”

“I’m not having family therapy time with you,” he spat.

Luther gestured back to the bed where they had been only seconds ago. “You already sort of did. I shared, now it’s your turn.”

Oh so that was what this was about. “Luther, you’re a moron.”

“Hey come on, I’m trying to help.”

“Well, you’re not, so stop.”

Luther’s expression changed, anger mixing with exasperation, all in a field of sadness. And that goddamn pity again. “You know, I hear you crying in your sleep.”

Five’s throat closed and burned, his lungs screamed, his chest ached, the tips of his fingers tickled with the urge to flee. Flee or attack, flee or attack. This wasn’t fair, Luther was going for the soft spots, he wasn’t holding his punches while Five was holding back _everything_.

Luther kept talking, his hands up like he’d seen the change, could see the panic weaving itself around his smaller brother. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.” He was down on his knees, staring at Five like he was afraid to spook him. “I’m here, though. You cried for us, and I’m here. I know what the isolation does, Five. I’ve been there. I know.”

Luther might have understood the isolation, but he didn’t understand the monster Five had become to escape it. “You don’t know _shit_.”

Luther flinched back, his hand falling to land on his knees. “I don’t.” He said. “I only know what I’ve seen and survived. I only know what you’ve told me. Just like you don’t know much about my time on the moon.”

Ah, a path of escape. He wasn’t sure if Luther meant to give him this path, but he was going to take it. “That’s not true.” He had spent _weeks_ on the infinite switchboard, spying on his family. He’d been supervised, certain things he wasn’t allowed to see. Anything past March of 2019 was a mystery to him, and he obviously understood why now. But not back then. “I know you spent four years alone, undertaking the same tasks everyday. I know you researched lunar surface radiation, took enough samples to fill your own museum, and studied 3-body orbital mechanics.”

Luther gaped.

“I know you helped test experimental fuels in the lunar gravity, and helped NASA complete a rover that is now drilling for water-ice in the poles.”

“How--?”

“I know that Dad saved your life and sent you away because he didn’t like the results. I know that bastard ruined your life, just like he ruined all of us.” He was calm again, or at least in control enough to pretend to be calm. His heart was pounding an off rhythm but he could breathe and his voice was strong and steady again. “I know we all left you alone in that big house and you refused to leave. You don’t give up on people, Luther, not even Dad.”

“Yeah, and not you, either.”

Five shook his head. “Don’t make this about me.”

“Can this be about all of us?”

Five huffed a laugh. “It always has been.”

Luther said nothing, watching Five with an odd tilt to his head, something pensive crinkling around his eyes.

“What?” Five asked, feeling his skin prickle under the observation.

“Just remembering something you said to your older-- uh, younger self.”

“Hmm?” If Five was being honest, that whole affair was becoming a blur in his mind. He had the striking recollection of Luther nearly killing him and managing to juke both versions of himself (which would be amusing if it wasn’t so damn humiliating), but everything else was becoming a slurry mess in his mind. Paradox psychosis was a hell of an experience. Not recommended for beginners.

“You never stopped thinking about your family.”

Had he said that? Sounded like something he would use against himself. Emotions were such a weakness, and his family would always be his greatest source of emotion (and weakness). Maybe that was why he couldn’t keep himself together around them.

“An appeal to emotion,” he said coldly. “Not that it worked.”

“I don’t know, I think it did.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.” It had no venom.

“I know.” Luther offered him a smile, his hands rubbing his legs awkwardly for a second. He raised his arms then, like he was offering a hug, but it was so hesitant and halting that Five couldn’t be sure. “Come here,” Luther said.

Five raised an eyebrow, feeling the exasperation raise a tickle in his chest. At least it wasn’t the tightness of before. As much as he almost, sort of, maybe wanted to step forward and let Luther wrap his arms around him, he decided that was definitely going to be so far over the line, it wouldn’t have even been on the same planet.

“Nope,” he said, stepping sideways toward the coffee maker.

Luther huffed behind him, sighing heavily. “Well, I tried.”

“Got pretty far,” Five admitted. “But we’re not there yet.” He gave his brother a look over his shoulder, trying to convey that he wasn’t mad. This had been a little stupid, and honestly only withstandable because Luther was a big awkward oaf that didn’t know how to control the conversation.

Five would not have been able to keep a lid on things if it had been Vanya hitting with him that _crying-in-his-sleep_ bullshit that Luther had blindsided him with. All the more reason not to sleep around them. The last thing he needed was them all fawning over him right out of a nightmare. They were idiots, and that was a grand way to get themselves stabbed.

“You want more coffee?” He asked Luther, mostly as a peace offering, but also to break the heavy silence that had fallen between them.

Luther was looking at him with sad eyes. Not the pity, thankfully, but something just as painful and that grated on Five in a similar way. Big dumb puppy eyes, and it was _obnoxious_.

“Will we be there one day?” Luther asked, his voice impossibly small.

Five shrugged. “Sure,” he said, nonchalant. “But it isn’t today, so do you want more coffee or not?”

Luther sighed again, and it sounded like defeat at last. “Yeah,” he said after a minute. “I need another."

Good, because so did Five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I struggled a bit. And by struggled i mean, i trashed the original version of this chapter after having fully completed it, then spent another ten days fighting with the rest of it.
> 
> In the end, it all worked out, because I didn't know I needed this Luther scene, but I did, so here it is. Five is just not getting any breaks, and this trend will continue for bit longer. At least he slept, sort of. :)
> 
> Thank you again for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks. It feeds my soul just as much as the Five angst.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luther: THE MOOOOOOOOOON!

Space was loud.

Well, not space itself, but being in space was. The rumble of rocket engines, the sounds of thousands of running, humming systems all meant to keep him alive and safe, coolant through pipes, fuel pumps working, hydraulics hissing. And that was just the capsule.

The Lunar Hab had its own cocktail slurry of sounds. The metal struts tended to creak, the life support vents blasted recycled air, the water reclamation systems whirred and glugged. There were more monitors and sensors than Luther had any chance of knowing about, inside the walls and out.

A thousand tiny little noises that all made the silence worse. It made the lack of voices, the lack of atmosphere, all so stark and more difficult to ignore. It hadn’t been like that in the beginning. The quiet had been nice, there was something giddy in the rumble and tick of space grade technology all around him.

The novelty wore off pretty quick, and the reality had set in. Then there was always music playing, and sometimes if Earth was over the horizon he’d get bursts of random broadcasts from home. Broken and staticy voices, not always in english, not always intelligible when it was. Always somehow a comfort.

He called Dad alot, but he never wanted to talk long. All Reginald usually wanted was a status update of the base, and if Luther had discovered anything noteworthy. Always with an air of clipped indifference, regardless of what Luther had to report. 

Luther mostly talked to Pogo about other things, like how there wasn’t enough food, but he supposed he wasn’t starving either. And could they send more hot sauce  _ please _ , he was drinking the stuff like water because he couldn’t taste anything else.

He spent four years like that. With only himself, only his own thoughts and his own flaws, and his own mistakes to keep him company. Four years of sleepless nights because every time he closed his eyes his siblings were there but they wouldn’t touch him. Four years of reaching out and having Allison step away from him.

He’d been so afraid to touch her when he had gotten back. It had felt so good to see her, actually really  _ see _ her. Not her picture in a scanned magazine transmitted by Pogo or Grace, not her movies that made her into something he didn’t remember (even if he watched them over and over again). To see her, and see how beautiful she had become in person. More beautiful than he ever could have imagined.

She had broken down the barrier first, grabbing his hand and pulling him from Five’s portal, all the way back on the day of the funeral. He would never forget the warm and solid feel of her hand in his, her grip like iron around his fingers. He still thought about that a lot.

The big coat wasn’t just to hide his deformities. It was to keep a barrier between him and everyone else. It took him months to shed it off like dead skin. Months for the desperation to overpower his discomfort, months until he broke down his own barriers and let himself feel again.

The last year of his life had been one of the hardest. He barely believed it himself, but looking back, especially the first months, those were the hardest of his life. He  _ needed _ his family and they were gone, poof, slipped away from him in an instant, all thanks to Five. Allison was gone, and no matter how many times he returned to the Alley, he never found her. No matter how many times he called for her or slept on the concrete next to the dumpster, waiting; she never arrived, or maybe she already had. Or maybe she never would.

Luther had lost hope for a while. He couldn’t go home, Dad had rejected him. For all he knew, his siblings were gone, lost in time and space, forever missing and distant. For a while the dreams got worse.

He had no one else to rely on until Jack took an interest. He gave him guidance, purpose, something to do that wasn’t wallowing in his misery. Luther had no skills, but Jack saw past that. He saw that Luther had strength, he had value, and Jack actually  _ cared _ for his well being. Not just making sure he had enough to eat, but that he had friends, hobbies that weren’t just fighting. And yeah, a lot of those friends and hobbies were there to remind him of what had already been drilled into him as a child. Stuff he had forgotten on the moon, and then some stuff dear old Dad just never taught him. Like how to fight dirty, how to take advantage of a smaller opponent.

Slowly, Luther got better. It had been hard, it had been grueling and painful and some days still felt like square one, but he was getting  _ better.  _

That didn’t mean the nightmares had stopped, though they had gotten few and far between. They came back when Five had, when he had seen Vanya that same night. The cruel images of his family, of Allison stepping just out of reach, his fingers passing through them, or the dirision in their eyes because they don’t want his ape-hands on them.

So of course one would come to haunt him his first night in 2019. This one had melted out of a convoluted dream about a tractor and a little boy. The little boy wasn’t someone he recognized at first, some sandy-haired blue-eyed child, but then Diego had flipped the tractor over on himself and the boy was Five telling Luther to save his brother. Except he was just saying Diego’s name over and over, pouring out of him like a broken prayer, crying it out in a way that Luther had never heard from him before.

Luther went for him instead of Diego, wanting to silence the quiet, horrible,  _ terrifying _ little noise coming from his brother. Five evaporated into smoke and snow just as Luther reached him and he jolted awake in a cold sweat. He wasn’t on the farm, there was no tractor, Diego was in the other room asleep. They were in the motel room, the clock on the bedside table read 3:22am. 

He had been dreaming and now he was awake again. The nightmare was over and his family was nearby in the next room. Luther tried to calm the thundering in his chest.

At least, he thought he was awake now. It was dark, and all the snow was gone, yet Five was still crying from somewhere in the room.

Luther was pretty sure it was Five (it had to be, who else could it be, but it wasn’t how Five was  _ ever  _ supposed to sound), saying Diego’s name over and over, in a high-pitched whine that twisted at Luther’s insides and gnawed at him. It made all the hair on his arms and neck stand up and it had him out of bed and halfway across the room to  _ make it stop _ it when it finally died out on its own. Luther froze, listening to a series of shifting and shuffling noises from that corner of the room, then to the silence again. 

He felt like he should do something, but he didn’t know what. He was standing frozen in the middle of the room, eyes glued to the pale pile of blankets stuffed in a chair, barely discernible in a darkened corner. Maybe he should try to wake him? 

Then again, this was Five, and waking him from a nightmare had the high chance of ending in violence. And if by some miracle it didn’t result in stabbing, he couldn’t imagine how something like that would go. What was Five going to do? Blubber and cry like an actual thirteen year old, or scowl and glare and throw insults at him for daring to disturb the old man’s sleep.

The latter. Definitely the latter.

Five didn’t move again anyway, so Luther went back to the bed. He flopped down onto his stomach with a heavy sigh, and lay with his face toward the window for a while.

He wasn’t sure when he dozed off again. He didn’t even know he was sleeping until he was reaching for Vanya’s arm and she was snapping it back like he was going to burn her. He recognized the nightmare in her eyes before he did in his surroundings.

Something far off yet very close by sounded with a  _ ding _ , and suddenly Vanya was gone and it was dark in the motel room again. Someone was moving around near the counter in the back, bringing with it the sound of water pouring and paper tearing. Luther pushed himself up on his arms, hoping the vantage point would help, turning his head back and forth. It was too dark to see much, the light coming in the window had no hope of reaching all the way to the counter.

But Luther could make a guess. “Five?” He hissed. “Is that you?”

“Go back to sleep,” Five answered, barely above a whisper himself, his voice cracked with sleep. “Everything’s alright,” he added a second later, as if an afterthought.

“Why are you awake?” Luther felt like he knew the answer already, that Five was awake for the same reasons he was, but he asked anyway.

“It’s morning.”

Or, Luther supposed, there was that too. He flopped back down with a huff, the idea of getting up for the day making his arms tired just thinking about it. How was it morning if it was still dark out? He looked at the clock, it read 4:02am.

Yeah, go figure Five would be up making coffee this early. “It’s 4am.”

“Go back to sleep, then,” he responded without missing a beat. Luther noticed the curious lack of irritation in his tone. If anything, he sounded a little empty, a little drained.

It worried Luther, and since he was still trying to parse what was and wasn’t a dream at this point (because wasn’t Vanya just in here?), he figured he may as well investigate. He rolled over, sitting up so he could put his feet on the ground, feeling the exhaustion punch him in the gut. 

He turned on the light beside him, basking the room in cheap yellow hues that made it look even dingier. Five was on the other side of the room, messing with the coffee maker, his back turned to Luther.

Luther bent his head to scrub at his face, scouring his fingers across his scalp, trying to get some semblance of feeling back in his skin. He lost himself in the mechanics of the motion for a moment, rubbing and scratching until his mind was clearer and his eyes didn’t feel so damn heavy.

The coffee maker dinged again, making Luther look up. He had the distinct impression then that Five had been watching him while he scratched himself, but his brother had quickly turned and started messing with the coffee maker again, so Luther couldn’t be sure. Another minute passed before Five brought over a styrofoam cup and set it down on the table, staying just out of Luther’s reach as he did. 

Luther took the coffee, finding it bitter and watery, but the warmth was nice. Five moved like a ghost across the carpet, bare feet making zero noise as he walked to the connecting door and closed it to give the others some peace. Then he was going back to the coffee maker, setting it up to heat more water. Luther hadn’t seen him drink one, could have sworn there had been another, and couldn’t imagine the real Five would have given him the first cup of the day.

It made it clear that Luther couldn’t be sure if he was still dreaming. The coffee tasted real, the bed felt real, but he didn’t, and he couldn’t tell if Five was. He cleared his throat hoping to get his brother’s attention. Five looked at him, turning himself to regard his brother with the gulf of the empty room between them, half sheltered by the weak light. 

Luther couldn’t get a good look at him, and almost expected him to melt away into the shadows clinging to the walls. “C’mere.” Please, step into the light so he could see him, step close enough so he could make sure he was real, that this wasn’t a dream. That they weren’t going to disappear on him again.

Five hesitated, and didn’t move at all for a few seconds. Then he crossed his arms over his chest, and swayed back and forth like he was making a tough decision. He seemed to make up his mind, padded over silently, only to stand just out of reach again.

Here in the light, Luther could get a much better look at him. And he looked  _ awful _ . The shirt was ridiculously large on his scrawny shoulders, the neck having slipped off one, exposing sharp bones and the hollows in between, marred and stained with bruises. The skin on his neck had turned a deep purple in the night, evidence that someone had tried to choke him. His other bruises had darkened and yellowed overnight, creeping up his exposed shoulder for Luther to see. It was suddenly painfully clear to Luther just how hard the last few days had been on Five.

Luther knew he didn’t need to be protected. He knew it was a waste on him, knew that Five would sooner offer it then accept it. But it still lit a fire of anger in Luther than Five was so beaten to shit. It was hard not to feel protective when the boy was standing in the predawn lamp light, his skin impossibly pale, his bruises impossibly dark, looking like a lost child that had just escaped a warzone. He hoped this was a dream for Five's sake because he looked like shit, and he shouldn’t even be awake. He shouldn’t even be standing.

They stared at each other in silence for a long minute, Luther taking in all the details. The way Five was hunched, the scuffs on his knees, how his arms were practically holding himself. Real or not, he looked bothered, staring back at Luther with his lips a thin pressed line and a silent guard in his eyes.

The coffee maker dinged, breaking the silence. “You want more coffee?” It sounded like Five, and yet didn’t. His voice rasped, heavy with something that seemed to waver unsteadily under the surface of him.

Luther couldn’t tell what it was, but he wanted to know. He wondered if it was the nightmare, the one that had the boy crying for them in his sleep. Luther put the mostly-empty cup down on the table, straightening his posture and letting his arms fall to rest at his sides, the opposite of the closed off way Five was holding himself.

“What?” The boy snapped, finally some of his usual irritation bleeding through. He was finally getting tired of being stared at, and Luther couldn’t blame him for that.

“Come here.” Where Luther could catch him if he fell, or where he would evaporate so Luther could wake up.

“I did.”

He huffed, feeling his chest pull tight. Of course Five wouldn’t get closer, closer meant Luther could end the nightmare, whether Five would evaporate into smoke or crumble into snow. Luther beckoned, one last ditch effort, one last attempt to vanquish this beaten image of his brother.

“No.” Solid but shaken, crude and yet so twisted in emotion that Luther looked up at him in surprise. It wasn’t fear, but Luther could sense a twist of unease buried in the irritation. 

God, if that didn’t hurt Luther. His own brother, uneasy of him. But why? Luther could make a guess, as terrible as it was, the way it curled in his gut and stung at him. All those bruises Five had, he may not want  _ anyone _ touching him at all. And that made Luther’s heart hurt both for the boy and for himself. “Five.” 

Five said nothing, did nothing. He stood as still as a statue, bathed in the yellowed light of the lamp, looking pale and small and beaten. Five stared at him blank and unreadable, in a way that made Luther a little uncomfortable.

“That shirt is really big on you,” he said to break the silence, the first thing that came to mind that wasn’t about the nightmares or the bruises.

The spell that had paralyzed his smaller brother broke, like a doll coming back to life. Five scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Everything looks big on me,” he said, his voice low and bitter.

Luther winced at the tone, realizing a bit belatedly it was over the fact that Five was not supposed to look like this. “Yeah,” everything would be big on him. Big like the suit he’d first showed up in was. Big like how Luther felt in his own skin. “Do you ever feel…” Like a puzzle piece in the wrong slot? Like your body doesn’t belong to you? “I don’t know, wrong?”

Confusion knit Five’s brow, his head tilted off to one side.

“You know, your body,” Luther clarified, gesturing at all of him, hoping he wasn’t about to tread down a path they would both regret. “Does it feel wrong?”

Five blinked at him, surprise lifting his expression before contemplation took hold. The tense cross of his arms finally eased, the boy looking down at his hands as if he had forgotten he had them. It echoed an ache in Luther, understanding the uneasy feeling of even your own hands not matching. He found himself looking down at his own, their grotesque proportions, the mottled and discolored skin.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Five answered after a long pause, his voice so small it was nearly swallowed by the silence of the room.

“Me too,” Luther said, just as quiet. “Sometimes I wonder if anyone would want to… You know ‘cause I have all this-- uh fur.” He wasn’t sure what possessed him to say all that out loud. It wasn’t something he had ever tried to tell anyone else, it wasn’t something he even dared tell to Allison. He was supposed to be Big Strong Number One, he couldn’t let them know that he was terrified they wouldn’t do something as simple and harmless as touching him.

Luther supposed, if anyone was going to understand trying to be strong for the family in the face of all that weakness (of that  _ type _ of weakness), it was going to be Five. Luther wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did. 

“Didn’t Klaus say you had a fling with some girl from a club?”

Or Five would  _ completely _ misunderstand what he meant.

Luther looked up sharply, feeling the heat rise to his face. “No!” He hadn’t meant  _ that  _ kind of touching.

“Shhh,” Five hissed, giving him a sharp wave with one hand. “The others…” he reminded Luther.

“Oh right, sorry.” He looked past the boy to the door behind him. Luther was glad Five had the foresight to close it, giving the others the peace of a quiet morning. He hoped none of them were having the same nightmare problems that he and Five seemed to be having.

They both paused, listening through the wall for sounds from the other room. Luther could hear the tick of the building, the water rushing through pipes, the gentle whooshing of cars on nearby streets. But no living people sounds from the next room. 

Luther picked the conversation back up. “I don’t mean-- y’know,  _ sex, _ ” he hissed. Why did he have to bring up that humiliating incident? This was the last thing he wanted to talk to  _ Five _ of all people about. 

The boy snorted, amused by his discomfort. “What did you mean, then?” But his question was genuine.

What  _ had _ Luther meant? Certainly not sex, but he had never given himself the liberty to think up specifics. Pipe dreams didn’t get that sort of consideration. But if he had to think up something, then maybe it was... hugs. The hearty pats from Diego, the feel of Klaus’s spindly arms and twiggish shape, Allison’s softness. 

He couldn’t hug Vanya, not after… not after what he had done to her. He wouldn’t dare, didn’t deserve that forgiveness. He had practically ended the world with a hug, he wasn’t sure he deserved them from anyone.

His thoughts started to spiral. Maybe it was the way the nightmare was still settling over his big shoulders, or how he couldn’t stop hearing the memory of Five calling out for them with tiny, broken cries that shouldn’t belong to him. Maybe it was the darkness clinging to the corners of the room, their shapes turned surreal in the yellow light. Maybe it was how Five seemed so far away from him. And how that reminded Luther of himself, and how he still felt alone, even now and even when surrounded by people.

Luther couldn’t look at the boy anymore, not with the hollowness twisting at his heart. He couldn’t ignore it with the gulf in between them, the space Five had left, the barrier that kept them separate and apart. Born in the voids they all left when they visited him in his dreams on the moon, leaving gaps he couldn’t reach across, distances he couldn’t leap for them, growing inside him, eating at him. Empty spaces that had settled in his heart and made themselves at home.

Luther hadn’t heard Five step closer, didn’t even see him move. But he felt the hand on his shoulder, feeling it jolt him down to his core. Warm and solid and alive.

He looked up, Five was so much closer now, his arm bridged between them to lay a hand on him, like a path back to reality, a connection that Luther wanted to cling to. The shadows didn’t seem so harsh, the yellow light felt less surreal. The silence wasn’t so heavy.

Luther let out his breath, feeling his chest deflate right along with it, shaken and unstable. Then another breath in, and with it came the relief. It washed over him like a tide, loosening the knots in his chest. Relief that Five was there, that this was real, that Luther wasn’t alone.

God, but that meant-- All the bruises! The one on Five’s neck looked so bright up close, the blooming shades of the others that had no explanation yet, peeking out over the collar of his shirt where it fell off one scrawny shoulder, swathes of darkened purples and sickly yellows contrasting sharply in the yellowed light. If this was real, this pathetic beat up version of Five was real, and Luther almost wanted to pull him onto the bed so that he wouldn’t have to keep standing.

He didn’t even think about it before grabbing Five’s arm, and had to stop himself from tugging. This  _ was _ real, and maybe the predawn darkness and the nightmares were messing with Five’s head, too, but that didn’t mean he was going to let Luther pull him around. 

So Luther kept his grip loose and let himself feel the weight of the other's arm between his fingers. Five didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch back or recoil or vanish so he told himself this was fine. This was alright for both of them.

Luther broke the silence with a huff, aiming for a laugh but knew it sounded choked anyway. He hoped Five wouldn’t notice. “I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming,” he explained. That way Five wouldn’t pull away before Luther was ready.

“You’re not,” was all Five said back, quietly reverent.

Luther nodded, his eyes landing on the umbrella tattooed on his brother’s skin, pressing his thumb into it like it was a button, considering the familiar ink for a moment. Luther knew physical affection was probably not easy for Five, and yet here he was, giving it out, or at least trying to. The very act was comforting, Luther found. The fact that Five was trying at all gave Luther strength, and made this moment of weakness almost bearable. 

Weakness that Luther couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. Weakness that Five didn’t deserve to be burdened with, but that Luther couldn't shoulder alone. “I keep having these dreams that I’m on the moon, but you’re all there with me, and none of you will get near me. None of you want--” He pushed it all out in a rush, but he couldn’t keep going, the words choking him. 

Fingers dug into his shoulder, and Luther found himself readily focusing on the weight of his brother’s hand. His brother who had spent decades alone and who had known exactly what Luther had needed. A hand on his shoulder, someone to reach out to, the physical proof of another living person. Five who understood the nightmares because he had them too. 

Luther looked up, finding himself face to face with Five’s curiously pained expression, with a deep set frown and hardened eyes that whispered at the pain underneath. Pain that Luther could feel echoing in himself.

“How do you do it?” How did he act so nonchalant and unbothered? How could he be so put together after so long when only four years had nearly broken Luther.

Five didn’t understand, his head tilting.

Luther had no idea how to phrase the question. “How do you…?”  _ How do you stand being around people? How do you stand being alone? How can you stand being here and being touched when sometimes it's all I think about? How can you stand  _ not _ being touched, not constantly reaffirming this is real? You spent so long alone, how have you not demanded it from us by now? How are so small and yet so much stronger than me? _ He shook his head, unable to express his turmoil.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Five was trying, but Luther could hear his patience was beginning to thin.

“You spent all that time alone, there was no one else around?” Luther tried a direct approach, but the pull back was immediate.

“Luther, don’t--” Five shifted away from him, the motion so small and halted that Luther only felt it through the tensing of muscles in the arm he was still holding. There was a warning in Five’s voice, one that said:  _ Don’t bring that up, don’t talk about that. _

Luther pulled him back, bringing attention to where he had Five in his grip. “This,” he said. “I spent four years alone, Five. There wasn’t a single other human being around.” Luther watched his face melt into a harrowing sadness and knew he didn't have to say more.

“I know,” Five said, barely above a whisper.

“I never…” Luther hesitated, his chest burning with shame. “I never thought I would…  _ crave _ something like this. Reaching out for another person and having them be there.” A humiliating weakness to want something as simple as a friendly pat or hug or a hand to hold when he felt sad and alone. But now that it was in the air, he felt better about it. Somehow, he felt that Five would be the one sibling who wouldn’t judge him for this one. 

Luther sighed, feeling it deflate his chest and sap his energy. The words were in the air, and Luther was tired now. His eyes burned, and he didn’t think he could stand to have Five see him cry too, so he ducked his head. “That’s always the nightmare,” he said. “I reach out and you guys aren’t there, or you move away, or I just pass right through you.”

Five said nothing, and he had taken to stillness again. The silence that settled over them wasn’t uncomfortable, despite all that. It was patient and peaceful, Five’s hand on Luther’s shoulder as an anchoring weight, his arm in Luther’s hand a connection back from the lonely place his nightmares took him. Luther took the moment to collect himself, swallowed past the lump in his throat and let the tears run themselves dry. It was only a few, Luther couldn’t help them, but he couldn’t help being a little ashamed of them.

At the very least, he was ashamed of his own display, and knew that feeling would only grow with time. Poor Five, Luther was sure this was not how he wanted to start his first day back in 2019. Comforting a blubbering doofus, even if it was over something only Five really could have understood.

Still, Luther snorted, the oddity of the situation finally settling in. Five was trying to comfort him, standing with his body as far from Luther as he could while still being able to put a hand on his shoulder, one of his arms caught in Luther’s meaty hands. He knew he had pulled their prickly old teleporter far out of his depths. “Sorry,” he said. “I know this isn’t exactly your thing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Five gave his shoulder an awkward little squeeze. “I owed you, anyway.”

“For what?” Luther let him go, wiping his face with that hand, wondering what he could have possibly done  _ right _ for Five to sit through a heart to heart with him. 

“You saved my life the other day. With my other self. You kept me on track,” he said with a light shrug.

Luther blinked a few times in surprise, regarding his brother’s nonchalant expression. “Really? I thought I screwed that up?” Hadn’t that whole thing been a waste of time? And it had incriminated both of them in the JFK assassination (which Luther was still waiting for that to come back and bite them in the ass).

“No,” Five said with a sigh, his arm dropping back to his side, his hands diving into his pockets. “I fucked up. And I probably should have given you more warning when it came to dealing with--” His face twisted into a grimace. “Mmm, myself.”

Luther snorted at that. At least Five was self-aware. “You  _ are _ a lot to handle,” he joked.

If Luther hadn’t been watching him, he would have missed him flinch. Five’s eyes darted down and away, a harsh frown pulling his entire expression into dower scowl aimed at the carpet between their feet. He turned himself away slightly with a casual looking sway of his shoulders, back hunched and rigid. He was closing off, his barriers coming up. “Well, it’s not forever, just until I figure out how to get you home.” His voice shook with something, held roughly under a strained control that Luther could practically taste the bitterness of.

Luther had no idea where this came from or why. For a second, all he could do was stare at his brother before the implications settled in. It took another dragging moment for  _ not forever _ to penetrate his skull but when it did it was like someone had hit him with a truck. “What do you mean, not forever?” Luther wasn’t going to jump to conclusions, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let himself. “Are you going to leave us again?” He did anyway.

“No,” Five said, a little too quickly and sharply for it to really soothe any of Luther’s anxiety. “I’ll always be around,” he continued, then more quietly, as if to himself. “Maybe just not where you’ll have to deal with me.”

He may as well have stabbed Luther for all the pain those words brought, racing up his arms like electricity and settling rough and aching in his chest. “Five,” he said, at first too shocked to say anything else. 

Where the hell was this coming from? Was it the joke? Had Five actually taken that seriously? “I was joking, I didn’t mean it like that.” Because a stupid joke shouldn’t mean anything but they had been being honest with each other and Luther felt like he should have known better. He would eat his entire leg if he could take it back.

“Mmm, whatever.” Five shrugged, back still hunched and hands hiding in his pockets. Luther had reached for him without meaning to, the boy stepping out of reach again, playing at nonchalance, but it wasn’t settling well. 

It felt fake and masking and it made Luther feel sick. “You’re a lot to handle,” he said, trying to coax him back but already knowing it was probably useless. The least he could do at this point was apologize and eat his words. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t want you here with us.” 

How could Five think otherwise? It was obvious that he  _ cared _ even if he would never admit to it. He said it to his other self, he saved Luther from falling bricks at risk to himself, he drove Diego’s crazy girlfriend away long enough for Luther to save Allison, he had brought them together twice to save the world and somehow after all of that, Five had the impression they  _ didn’t want him _ ?

This was going to kill Luther if he didn’t fix it, and if he failed, he would rise from the dead and haunt Klaus until he made the others fix this too. 

Five scoffed at his words, and it was harsh and acidic. He took another step away, forcing more distance between them. “Don’t even start.”

“Five,” he called again, reaching for his brother, but the boy only retreated more. “Wait, hold on. Talk to me.” Luther stood off the bed, following Five across the room, the space between them threatening to suffocate him, his mind scrambling for solution, something smart to say,  _ anything. _

“I’m not having family therapy with you.” Five halted his retreat only to spit the words at Luther, making him stop too. 

Luther hesitated, half a step from him. He gestured back to the bed where they had been only seconds ago, peacefully having their touching discussion. “You already sort of did.” Before Luther had said stupid things and Five couldn’t cover his ass fast enough. 

Luther had never seen Five react like that, had never seen him scramble to hide his offense and suddenly he wondered how often stuff like this happened. How often had they said or done something that Five just  _ didn’t _ react at all to? Didn’t bring up again, didn’t talk about, just swallowed and carried it in silence. Jesus, Luther knew they were bad communicators, all of them. But that sort of thing ran deeper than that, you didn’t jump to those sort of conclusions without first having it beaten into you.

The situation settled once again across Luther, recontextualizing in his head. The nightmares that kept them both awake, the surreal yellow light that made everything worse. Luther reminded himself that Five  _ had _ to be at the end of his rope, and a little bit of fitful sleep wasn’t going to make him right as rain.

Luther didn’t have a satisfying way to describe it, but he realized that Five was not quite in a good frame of mind, driven off-kilter by exhaustion and nightmares and the predawn unreality of the room around them. It was pure luck that Luther had him cornered so to speak, but if he wasn’t careful, he knew the boy would vanish in an instant. But maybe, just maybe, between the common ground they had established and Five’s apparent imbalance, Luther might still be able to salvage this. “I shared,” he said. “Now it’s your turn.”

Five glared, anger coiling tight in his shoulders and face. “Luther, you’re a moron.”

Insults as shields, and these ones were weak, run of the mill, you’re usual brand of Five verbal abuse. Nothing like the ones he used on Allison, so Luther tried to let them glide off of him. “Hey, come on. I’m trying to help.”

“Well, you’re not, so stop.”

That one hurt, Luther couldn’t deny. He knew he was bad at this, and he knew he was probably only going to make things worse. He  _ had _ already made things worse. He could feel himself deflating, discouraged.

Nothing could go right and Luther broke everything he touched. It wasn’t fair, not to Luther, not to the others, and most certainly not to Five. It wasn’t fair that Five had stormed into their lives and kicked up a flurry of dust and fire and now he planned to leave again all because they couldn’t just talk to each other. Diego was too arrogant, Allison could get too combative, Klaus never took anything serious enough, and Vanya never spoke up for herself.

Then there was Luther, doing his damned well best to be there for them, and here was Five, dropping tragedies and failures at their feet and dancing away like he just didn’t understand what was so sad about it all. The stubborn old man thought he was stronger than them, and he almost had them all fooled.

But Luther knew the truth now. He had seen it laid bare and now Five couldn’t deny it anymore. The little shit was just as fucked up as the rest of them.

“You know,” Luther said, his voice low and sympathetic; he was perhaps made foolish by his realization, but he hoped to gently inform Five that he was, in fact, cornered by Luther. “I hear you crying in your sleep.”

Luther immediately regretted saying that. Five’s back snapped straight, his eyes widened out of their glare, but the expression that took him was not much better. Horrified, enraged, and a terrifyingly rancorous hatred that leaked into the gleam of his eyes, murderous and just a touch too feral for Luther’s liking. The change was instantaneous, as if Luther had threatened him, not tried to comfort him.

That had  _ definitely _ been the wrong thing to say to the volatile little assassin that was too stubborn to admit to weakness. Just like the joke had been, but now Luther could see the anger curling around his brother and settling like a demon on his shoulders. The boy was seething, body strung tight and breaths coming in sharp huffs like he was getting ready to attack, or trying to hold himself back. His eyes twitched a storm, his mouth curling up into a snarl.

Luther’s hands were up, palms out, backtracking quickly. He went down to his knees, trying to bring himself to equal eye-level. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone,” he said, brain scrambling for something to calm him down. “I’m here, though. You cried for us, and I’m here. I know what the isolation does, Five. I’ve been there. I know.”

“You don’t know  _ shit, _ ” he snarled, voice breaking under the strain.

In other words, Five didn't believe there was common ground at all. Or maybe it didn’t even exist in the first place. “I don’t,” Luther admitted, because what  _ did _ he know? He knew about forty-five years of isolation, but he had no idea what that looked liked for Five. It certainly wasn’t cramped spaces and prepacked foods with his name on it. “I only know what I’ve seen and survived. I only know what you’ve told me. Just like you don’t know much about my time on the moon.”

“That’s not true,” Five said back, and just as sudden as before, his body language changed again. The straining intensity that had overtaken him eased back just a tad, allowing a different kind of focus to grab the boy instead.

It was like Five had made some realization about all this and it was fighting back the rage that had grabbed him. Luther wasn’t sure what he was seeing anymore, but he suddenly had the impression that it hadn’t  _ actually _ been anger, but something else entirely.

Five’s voice was still rough when he started speaking, starting like a growl in his throat and getting lighter for each word he said. “I know you spent four years alone, undertaking the same tasks everyday. I know you researched lunar surface radiation, took enough samples to fill your own museum, and studied 3-body orbital mechanics.”

_ What? _ How could he know? Not even Dad had looked at his research, how the  _ fuck _ did Five know about it?

“I know you helped test experimental fuels in the lunar gravity, and helped NASA complete a rover that is now drilling for water-ice in the poles.” 

“How--” Some of this was classified information, not the sort of thing you were going to find in a library record at the end of the world.

Five kept talking, getting calmer by the second, whatever had twisted him up before was finally passing like a squall. “I know that Dad saved your life and sent you away because he didn’t like the results. I know that bastard ruined your life, just like he ruined all of us.” His voice took a gentler tone, and in it was a steady strength that was starting to sound like his usual level-headedness. “I know we all left you alone in that big house and you refused to leave. You don’t give up on people, Luther, not even Dad.” And just like that, older-brother-Five was back, the rage was a whisper in his eyes, and although his body was still tense, he was facing Luther head on again, and wasn't so closed off.

And what he had said was actually a really nice thing to hear, Luther found. He felt the words bloom a warmth in his chest that helped calm his own beating heart. They were all stubborn assholes but it was nice to know that Five at least sometimes appreciated Luther’s brand of it. “Yeah, and not you, either,” he said, and he meant it.

Five shook his head. “Don’t make this about me."

“Can this be about all of us?” 

Without missing a beat, “It always has been.”

Luther realized Five was referencing something far deeper and older than just their stupid mess of a conversation.  _ We never stopped worrying about our family _ . He remembered that day in the bar with the two versions of Five, and honestly that line had really stood out to Luther. Five wouldn't use it on himself unless it held weight for him.

“What?” Five said sans the majority of his usual sharpness. 

Luther realized he was staring at him again. “Just remembering something you said to your older-- uh, younger self,” he said to break the awkward silence.

“Hmm?”

“You never stopped thinking about your family.”

Five paused for a second, then gave a little nod like he agreed with that. “An appeal to emotion,” he said. “Not that it worked.”

“I don’t know,” Luther said. An idea was forming in his head and as it was coming together, he couldn’t help the rush of warmth it brought him. “I think it did.” An appeal to emotions that Five was admitting to having. Luther supposed that was obvious, but it still seemed special to him. Five was a stubborn old bat that didn’t admit to weakness, but he loved them, and that spoke volumes to Luther.

“You’re an idiot,” Five said, but Luther now recognized the almost-affection hiding in his tone.

“I know,” he agreed, feeling a smile tug at him. He was an idiot, but so was Five, and so was Diego, and Klaus, and yeah, even the girls, too. They were all idiots trying to stick together and not get killed. Together idiots, idiots together.

The silence that had settled over them needed to be broken, and Five looked like he needed a hug. Either that or Luther was projecting but he decided he could swallow his own pride and offer for both of them. He raised his arms toward Five, intentions obvious, the offer of affection open. After all that emotion, it was only fitting, Luther thought. May as well bro it out all the way.

Five gave him a once over, looking a touch startled by the offer. He seemed to seriously consider it for a split second, but then thought about it too long. “Nope,” he said, a bit loudly, and sidestepped toward the back counter and away from Luther.

Five beat a hasty retreat, the moment officially over. Luther huffed a sigh, his arms dropping back to his lap. “Well, I tried.”

“Got pretty far,” Five said, his tone light, despite his refusal. “But we’re not there yet.” His voice still said  _ you’re-an-idiot _ but the look he passed Luther over his shoulder was kinder than that. He snorted then at something in his own head, turning back to the coffee maker with a small shake of his head. “You want more coffee?” It was a peace offering.

Luther was still stuck on  _ not there yet. _ Mostly because that meant there was a ‘there’ and it was reachable. And that Luther  _ might _ have been on his way there, with that ‘yet’ snuck in. It made him a little giddy, as he realized that this was a step in the right direction. “Will we be there one day?”

He gave a little shrug and said, “Sure,” tossed over his shoulder. “But it isn’t today, so do you want coffee or not.”

Luther figured he had better take the peace offering before Five rescinded it. “Yeah,” he said. “I need another.”

They didn’t talk much after that, though not for lack of trying. Luther attempted to convince him to rest on the bed but the scowl Five leveled at him could have burned down the building. Talking in general elicited that response and Luther realized that Five was done humoring him.

Luther watched TV for a while, but there wasn't much on expect paid programming. He flicked through a few channels, decided on a timeshare commercial for the Bahamas and settled back into the bed.

Five paced near the back of the room, nearly silent save for when he stopped to scribble something on a notepad he had dug out of a drawer. Luther wanted to watch him but Five turned a scowl at him if he spent too long looking.

So he tried to watch the infomercial instead and nodded off shortly after.

He woke sometime later to sounds of the girls making coffee. Five was missing, gone off with their clothes to lord knew where to get them cleaned. Allison explained that to him with an air of dismissal that told Luther she was still a little mad at their teleporter.

He told the girls about his conversation with Five earlier that morning, about his fear that Five might leave them. Vanya had looked worried, pensively staring off into space, slumped in her chair. Allison had been righteously angry at first, ranting that Five didn't get to act like a martyr after he had dragged them from their lives.

"I think he's also…" Luther wasn't sure he knew a tactful way to phrase it without stripping them both of their dignity. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hmming and hahing for the right words. "Uh, touch-- a-and affection starved." It felt silly saying it aloud.

Allison snorted.

"Well, yeah." Vanya said. "I thought that was obvious."

Allison barked a laugh then. "You can't be serious." She looked between both of them. “He hates being touched.”

“I think it’s a little more complicated than that,” Luther replied. Vanya nodded sagely along to that. 

Diego and Klaus meandered in at that point and their discussion was over for all intents and purposes. Luther thought about catching the other two up to speed but Allison didn’t seem inclined to bring Five up, and kept the conversation on other things, like what they planned to do, what supplies they needed, possible places they could go that wasn’t a dingy motel with only three beds. 

Klaus apparently had several houses for them to choose from, but Diego immediately called into question the viabilities of some of them. Especially because Klaus had been implicated in the JFK mess, who knew what had happened to some of these properties. Klaus reassured them that his wealthy benefactors had set him up for the future, he had made sure in a shocking bit of foresight that was going to impress Luther if it came to anything.

Five returned then, coming in through the king room door with their shirts pressed and folded slung over his shoulder. He threw them on the bed without a word, back in his own uniform, now cleaned. It hadn’t done much for the damage his blazer had sustained, and his bruises still looked awfully bright, especially the ones on his neck and forehead, but he looked more himself than he had in days.

Vanya thanked him for cleaning their clothes with a tiny smile, Five answered her with a nod and nothing more, heading for the coffee maker and digging a handful of instant coffee packets out of his pocket. “We should plan our next step,” he said, starting the coffee maker to heat water.

“Way ahead of you,” Diego said. “We were thinking of going to Gimbels for clothes--”

“We shouldn’t stay here,” Five cut him off. “We should move first, establish someplace more permanent before we start gathering supplies we’ll have to drag around with us.”

Solid point, Luther had to admit, but Five was thinking like someone stuck without modern technology. “We need a car,” he said.

Five glanced at him, his expression irritated, but something agreeable, too. “A car would be useful.”

“There’s a used car show,” Vanya said, perking up a bit like she was happy to contribute to the conversation with something useful.

“Okay,” Diego said shortly, “that’s nice, but where?”

“Oh, uh. I don’t know,” she shrugged, looking somehow both amused and embarrassed. “At a stadium somewhere.”

“Stadium car sales are easy to steal from,” Five said. “Diego, can you handle that?”

“I don’t know where it is?”

“Smarten up and figure it out.” Five gestured to the phonebook sitting on the table nearest the door. “It’s not hard, Diego.”

“Okay--” Diego jumped to his feet like he was going to go for Five.

“Hey!” Luther stood when Diego did, jabbing a finger in his direction in warning.

Diego growled and sat back in his seat. “I can steal the fuckin car by myself,” he pouted.

Five was smirking from the counter, completely unruffled by Diego’s short temper. “Maybe Luther should go with you, then again, the two of you might end up threatening some old woman again.”

“Hey, Five, come on.” Luther snapped at him. “We’re staying on task. Diego can get the car, the girls will go shopping.”

“No, Diego is going out to get the car and the rest of you are staying here until he gets back.” Five said. “Then we’re leaving the city.”

“You said we would be safer closer to the Academy,” Allison said.

“Last night,” Five told her. “But the longer we stay here, the higher chance they’ll find us.”

“So what, Diego’s going off by himself to steal a car and we’re all supposed to sit here and do what, exactly?” Allison’s voice bordered on the disdainful but Five didn’t so much as twitch in reaction.

“Rest, relax, gather your energy.” He waved his hand vaguely at her, his voice taking it’s own condescending tone, airily dismissive of her, even if the content of his words were almost kind. “We don’t know what the future holds here and I need you rested.”

Allison scoffed. “We need stuff, too. We need food, clothes, and first aid supplies.”

“And we’ll get them.”

“I’d like some bath salts, please,” Klaus said from his chair. “And oh, some candles would be great. We should get spa bath bombs, too, that would help ease our tensions.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking an epsom salt bath,” Vanya said. “That  _ would _ actually help.”

“See, Vanny, this is why you’re my favorite. We need spa supplies. Oh and some sage, for good vibes.”

Five snapped his fingers to bring their attention back. “Hey, stay focused, idiots. We are not going shopping yet, we’re getting a car and bugging out.”

“Why don’t we go shopping while Diego gets the car,” Vanya said. “Then we can leave this afternoon.”

Five looked like he was about to object to that but he stopped himself.

“There we go,” Diego said. “Best of both, everyone’s happy.” He stood from his chair again and snatched his shirt from the neat little pile on the bed. “Let’s go.”

The meeting fell apart, and Luther couldn’t help notice Five looked rather displeased by that. The girls had gone off into the other room, Diego had no qualms with changing his shirt in front of them, and stood nearby. Klaus hadn’t moved from his chair, not even wearing a shirt in the first place.

“You really think we’re going to be found?” Luther asked, dragging Diego’s attention to both of them.

“It’s a distinct possibility,” Five answered, nursing a fresh cup with a light grimace. “Make sure they add coffee to the things they get. Real coffee.”

“You’re not going with us?” Klaus asked.

“Us?” Diego turned to the seance. “You’re staying here.”

“Aww, why?” Klaus looked genuinely disappointed for a second before it was gone under a tiny smirk. “You’re still mad about the last time you and I went shopping, huh.”

“No,” Diego snapped at him. “But I don’t trust you in any store that sells lotion.”

“Dude, that was like  _ years _ ago. And it was totally Ben’s idea.”

They bickered back and forth but Luther stopped listening, his eyes back on Five. The boy wasn’t paying them much attention either, his expression heavy and his eyes distant. He was thinking hard about something, but Luther couldn’t even guess at what.

Luther stood and walked to his smallest brother, pausing beside him when Five looked up to regard him. Luther was quick to start making his own coffee, Five side stepping out of his way (and out of his reach). “Are we in danger here, Five?”

“We’re in danger everywhere,” he answered honestly, something uneasy in his tone.

Luther didn’t hear Diego approach, but saw the way Five’s eyes bounced to behind him, his face tightening. He turned as Diego spoke. “You’re not going with anyone?”

“Why?” Five asked, layered in irritation. “Need someone to babysit you, Diego?”

“Shut up, man. I meant the girls.”

“Well, I’d prefer they stay here but since none of you are listening to me, I figure they’ll cause the least amount of trouble by themselves.”

“Oh.”

“So you’re going with Diego then?” Klaus asked from across the room, lounging in one of the chairs.

“No, I’ll stay here.”

“Mm, how come? Still feeling under the weather, little brother?”

“Don’t call me little,” he snapped back. “I’m fine, but I wouldn’t be much use to Diego, it’s better I stay here.”

Luther wasn’t sure he liked that answer. “Why wouldn’t you be useful?”

“We should decide on a rendezvous location in case something happens here,” Five said instead of an answer. “And maybe you should call before coming back. I’m thinking the public library.”

“You’re being paranoid, Five. You said yourself this place was safe.”

The boy sighed, heavy and irritated. “Just for  _ last night _ ,” he hissed. Like he was trying to explain something complex to a bunch of toddlers, he said slowly, “The longer we stay here, the higher probability they find us.” He paused, the condescension leaking away for a second. “By tomorrow, the odds are up to nearly eighty percent. They’re looking for us.”

“Well, then it's a good thing I’ve got all those houses to choose from,” Klaus said, his voice light and cheerful. 

“Why won’t you be useful?” Luther asked again, unable to let it go.

Five turned his scowl at Luther, huffing sharply. “Because,” he ground out. “Someone needs to stay here and figure out where we’re going next.”

“Because he can’t teleport,” Diego said, his voice suddenly smug and his eyes bright as he looked down on his smaller brother.

Luther watched Klaus perk up from the corner of his eyes, rolling himself to his feet and coming over to join them. And with that they had accidentally surrounded Five, Luther and Diego standing on each side of him, and now Klaus in front of him, and the counter behind him.

“I can teleport, you idiot,” he said, his voice calm but low in warning. “But yeah, I’ll admit, I’m running on empty--”

Diego snorted at that and opened his mouth to say something but Klaus elbowed him hard in the ribs to shut him up.

“But,” Five said loudly. “I’ll draw attention to myself,” he pointed to the kisser on his forehead. “So going out at all is a bad idea, for me at least.”

“That’s a weak-ass excuse, Five.” Diego said, still with that smug look in his eyes. “You just want to stay here and sleep all day.”

Five growled at him, his patience beginning to thin in earnest. He shouldered through the gap between Diego and Klaus, pushing harder against Diego than the easier target of Klaus. “While you morons are out dicking around  _ shopping _ , I’ll be plotting how I’m going to keep you all alive,” he snapped.

“Aww, come on, Fivey,” Klaus followed him across the room. “ _ I’m _ taking a nap, you should totally join me. We’ll cuddle!”

“Don’t call me that, and we’re not--” He huffed in exasperation. “Klaus, you’re going to the pharmacy. I’m assuming you know how best to steal from a CVS.”

Klaus paused, gaped, then recovered enough to shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good.” Five picked up one of the notepads at the table he’d been working at this morning. He had found more at some point, and they now littered the table, their pages mostly used up already, half-intelligible math scrawled across them. “Tell them to get notebooks and pens, too. Lots of them.” He sipped his coffee, looking like an old professor in a child’s body, examining his own work with tight knit brows and critical eyes, purposefully ignoring them.

Diego’s mouth was twisted into a thoughtful grimace and Luther patted him on the shoulder. Diego glanced at him. “Weak-ass excuse,” he repeated quietly.

Luther shrugged, offering his brother a thin smile. “Yup,” he answered. “I’ll stay here with him.”

Diego didn’t look happy, but he accepted it anyway. He spared Five and Klaus one more glance before heading for the connecting door.

“Don’t forget to call before you come back,” Five called after him without looking up from the paper in his hand, patronizing and dismissive. “Rendezvous is at the library in case I’m right again.”

Diego scoffed, muttering a, “Stubborn prick,” over his shoulder as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are some words, that prelude some better words, but I needed some things established, because I'm a sucker for Luther and Five being good brothers to each other.
> 
> Can you tell I actually really like Luther? :)
> 
> Anyway, next time, some plans fall apart, because it wouldn't be the Umbrella Academy if shit didn't go sideways.


End file.
